Life has offered me all of its gifts with great generosity. I keep every sweet-scented flower it placed in my hands tucked safely between the pages of the books I’ve read over the years. I read those pages, their colors stained by the weight of time, and the patterns of the petals as if they were new languages. Through these silent tongues, I realize once more just how precious the random and the ordinary truly are.
I regret the moments I spent shouting rather than remaining quiet; these days, I dedicate far more time to silence and listening. Guided by the peace of believing only in what I see with my own eyes, I live a quiet life, untouched by the spell of other people’s words. Even if I were close to death, I do not believe anything could break this serenity.
I’ve missed breathing in the scent of flowers with deeper, quicker breaths; I’ve missed the warmth of fruit-infused drinks trickling down my throat. I’ve missed lying beneath a tall oleaster tree, smelling every seasonal blossom, and expressing just how much I love doing so. I’ve missed watching a stone tumble down a hill, tracing its path before it comes to a stop against someone’s foot.
Drawing & collage on sketchbook.
2026
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