Each image is like a silent shot that no one saw or heard.
Each image hurts me because it reminds me of the sensation of losing something or someone.
Each image whispers that I am finite.
In each image, there is a hidden light, an undisclosed secret.
The memory of suspended time is the beginning of salvation.
But in each image, I had the opportunity to learn the truth—to see the darkness.
I cried for all the things I saw.
What I lost is gone forever; fear embraces the darkness.
In each image, I remember the feeling of being a part of something unknown.
Everything I saw, I loved with my whole heart, even knowing I would lose it in the end.
In each image, a new battlefield is born, where the struggle for truth is the only certainty.