[...]Memory is a poison that mixes with our years, the awareness that life is the decoration of our solitude[...]

In the middle, me.

And yes, life is a dream, but not for lack of truth, not because the realities of its scars are lies, but because in dreams live all the times of the same city and everything accumulates behind a gaze, in the basement of our solitude, and the streets that disappeared years ago are flesh and bone, and the man walking alongside a river that no longer exists can forget for a moment that his life, what he calls his life…

Becoming present, resembles a memory.

In today’s garden, the very slow rain of last winter falls.

.: Luis García Montero, from "Rimanere senza città e altre prose" :.

:.https://www.debaser.it/users/13569326/2022116211658605.JPG

#chiaroscuro Pongo 3D "Duck with a pearl earring", spray on wall.

photo @feide86