Project Description

when does something become real?

is it when we notice it, or when it notices us?

in a busy life where time slips through our fingers,

where do we reclaim our own time?

once, we were children who laughed and cried at every feeling,

now, we pass through spaces like we pass through days,

partially aware, mostly occupied.

a shift in air. a glance almost caught. a sound misplaced.

then, something aligns. briefly. barely. but enough.

there’s a certain choreography to chaos.

the footfalls, the calls, the waiting.

within it, things begin to surface:

a descent into the space,

a seat warm from someone else,

a slit of light that moves slower than we do,

a laughter from somewhere above,

a labyrinth of people, wandering between scattered seats.

this place was always here, its bones unchanged,

but now, its paths bend, its pauses are planted.

small cues turn the rush into a weave,

so you feel what you were just trying to pass through.

finally, a pause unplanned, but somehow earned.

stillness isn’t native here.

and perhaps silence was never meant to be stitched to healing.

perhaps it only needs to hold you long enough.

we don’t offer grand gestures, only slight rearrangements.

patterns that may never repeat the same way twice.

and later, maybe in the middle of a sentence or a silence, something returns.

not loud. not clear. just a trace.

was it real, then?

or did it only become real

because you noticed it?

perhaps the realness was never about being seen, 

but about what remained with you.