Jacquard Design

The blue flows like liquid memory, tracing a face half-revealed, half-lost. Water becomes flesh, flesh becomes current. Each line trembles, as if the moment refuses to settle. A hand anchors itself to the chest, a fragile gesture against the inner turmoil. Drops bead on the skin, not from rain, but from emotions overflowing. The veiled gaze seems to turn inward, to where silence is deeper than the ocean. It is neither drowning nor birth, but the moment suspended between the two the moment when the soul floats, still undecided, between dissolving and existing.