A thread, that by convention is red, is left over. It brings me back to the time when we lived in narrow spaces, inside our homes, waiting for good news, talking to friends, seeing them tiny little ones inside a computer screen.
What has remained is the desire to reach out and open our arms, to embrace from afar those who thought of us or virtually came to visit us. The leaves gathered on the balcony are still there, carried by the wind to remind me of the existence of the outside.
And then the words, those spoken and those on paper. Those read and those gathered in the memory, trying to turn time into beauty.