#existential mood

Spring, rejuvenation, all that bullshit. The forest insists on beginning again. Light rehearses its return.

A moment to decide whether what lies behind you was just a bad dream.

Maybe I was too smart for it, like the old man said.

Or maybe the trees simply don’t remember.

(Photo: d.)

Человек может забыть многое из юности.

Но не ту вещь, на которую ему не хватало денег 💸🫠 ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ A person may forget many things from their youth.

Turning away from the light

Becoming adult

Turning into myself

I wanted to bite not destroy

To feel her underneath

I love these in-between hours when night has not quite ended and morning hasn’t yet begun.

The street is empty, the city undecided, and for a short while freedom and solitude are the same thing.

No witnesses, no audience — only a road stretching forward into a day that hasn’t chosen what it wants to be yet.

And neither have I. How could I? This seems more like transit-state than sanctuary.

(Photo: d.)

Dimman suddade ut både broar och kyrktorn, som om världen försökte glömma sig själv för en stund. Och jag följde med — stilla, nästan tacksam. *** The fog erased both bridges and spires, as if the world was trying to forget itself for a while. And I went with it—quiet, almost grateful.

(Photo: d.)

Instagram

Last frame. 120 film. The world arrives fractured: stone split open, color bleeding through the fault lines.

Sometimes it feels like reality itself is mocking us, showing us what might have been before something — history, time, our own hands — tore through it.

A landscape that keeps its secrets, a wound that refuses explanation.

Where does the damage begin? In the world, or in us?

(Photo: d.)