Bunga Abadi

There are things that don't die - they just change form. Sometimes it's a feeling that freezes between an inhalation and an exhalation, when the world suddenly becomes softer, as if someone has covered it with a transparent veil of light. There is no room for haste here: everything stretches out slowly, like smoke from incense, like a memory that doesn't hurt but warms.

And in this silence, where every sound lasts a little longer than it should, a strange calm is born. As if all the hustle and bustle is just a backdrop, and the most important thing has already happened long ago. All that remains is to carefully carry your own “immortal” detail of life, which smells of tenderness and time.