“Remember that the world is made of stories” – someone said to me. We stumble, every day, in a loving speech with the greatest points of loneliness, where we lose our speech and the difficulty is not remembering but forgetting. Here, I live to forget. Unrolling the silence of those who feel the other lose their speech. Today, it is in me that this speech is missing. I scream not to be alone, expressing a composite of identity, silence and passion, when looking at the relationship of the self with the other and the relationship of the self to the self. Of how it transforms us, of how we almost don't find ourselves and how we redefine. Each image is a fragment of this transformation and its whole is the confused piece where it is inserted. This is just another story.
