A place that my project seeks to capture both objectively and shaped by memories; the place where I was born, that I left, where wounds remained open: I swear, I’ve tried. I tried to think of you without memory. But maybe that’s what love is? This leaving and coming back. And coming back doesn’t mean to follow your footprints, But to leave as you realize the foot has grown. They don’t align. Is this loss, is kindness. I remember the passing of colors, from autumn to downfall. The circular motion of rubbing fingers, a circle that rotates and turns on itself. Like a dog biting its tail. I thought of the past with imagination. Like a dog biting its tail, but just for fun. After all, we cry out of need. I thought about future with nostalgia. I thought about how to defeat time.