I collect stories like rare gems, each tale a splash of color from the life I briefly borrow. These carefully selected memories blend in my mind to form a spectrum of green and pink that outshines every experience I have had myself.

Like the multi-layered planes of a dream that overlap and merge in vivid colors, these stories create a complex web in my consciousness that captures the essence of being more deeply than mere truth could – a living field of “what ifs” immersed in the nuances of hope and passion.

In this creative process, I become the architect of my own universe, in which the boundaries between me and the others, between truth and fiction, begin to blur in shades of green and pink.

Each collected story becomes an echo in this infinite space, a reflection on the infinite possibilities of life, colored through the prism of my imagination.

This narrative fabric I have created, a labyrinth of possible worlds, glows with the colors of hope and unfulfilled longings, serving as a mirror in which life appears not as a straight path but as an ocean full of potential, ready to be explored in all its green depths and pink heights.

A scent hits me unexpectedly; a phantom odor that carries me through time.t and space. Here I am, in a scene that has nothing in common with that moment, and yet, without warning, without any recognizable reason, I find myself thrown back into that past time.

This memory does not unfold in an orderly fashion, not consciously chosen, but bursts forth, an involuntary thrust from the depths of my subconscious.

For a flficult moment, I relive everything – the emotions, the scenery, with an intensity that takes my breath away.

And in the midst of this swirl of time, this confusion of now and then, I ask myself in confusion: Why? Why is this particular memory awakening, here, now, at this inopportune moment?