One photo. One story.
Some memories don’t stay in focus.
I don’t remember exactly where this path led, or what we talked about while walking through the forest that afternoon. I couldn’t tell you how cold it was, or even what month it was.
But I remember the light.
The way it slipped through the autumn leaves. The colours that seemed warmer than they probably were. And that strange feeling that, for a moment, there was nowhere else we needed to be.
Maybe that’s how memory works.
The details disappear first.
Then the places begin to blur.
And somehow, what remains isn’t what I saw at all.
It’s how I felt.
Another story → THE FIRST ONE THAT SOLD