Over the cold fields of indifference, a heavy fog settles, covering everything with a density of stupidity that tightens the air and suffocates any attempt to breathe the truth. The mountains, silent and distant, hide beyond the horizon line, covered by waves that foam with rage, swallowing everything, like our memories, unfulfilled dreams, and glasses clinked in the dead of night. Years pass like dark clouds, tears turn to stones, wrinkles bearing witness to a world that seems to gradually swallow us whole.

In the meantime, the sea carries everything with it—fragments of life and time, like small stones that end up swallowed in the depths. In the end, we are but crumbs in the wind of an unforgiving time, fleas in an expanse that does not even notice us.

Looking at the picture from above, everything shrinks: contours melt away, shadows fade, and we become absent, leaving behind only a trace of silence. But we do not get lost, because we know. We know how to resist oblivion, to rise from the ashes of resignation, to reset everything, and to start again. Tomorrow, a new field will open on the horizon.