Distance pretends to ease. Be it in time or in space, but our senses remain endless. Trees, roads, and traditions find homes in carried threads and needles found in faraway places. Distance pretends to stay the same, but the feel of the pillowcase against your childish tongue, the tablecloth we pulled from the ground, the warm images hanging from blank and cold walls:
colours of the sky and the sea, the desert and the sun, only shift.
We’ve often looked at landscapes and immortalized them into the designs you’ve neatly organized around our home. May they grow and change, and may each square become a reminder of where the needle is and where the thread is from. I’ve missed you, but the éclair at the store around the corner still looks the same and your voice always sounds safe.