In an eternal dialogue with what was, the phantom limbs of memory reach out, touch, then retract in solitude. What remains in the spaces once occupied—is it absence, or an unfulfilled presence?
Each shadow a testament, each echo a witness. The architecture of loss stands unchanged, yet the inhabitants are gone, dissolved into the ether of what was possible.
Imagine a world woven from threads of touch, though fingers now brush only air. The unseen merges into the seen, a paradoxical dance of presence and absence—a masterwork incomprehensible yet felt.