Flight is the only way to feel the space between sky and earth, but I never came back down.

In this in-between, everything takes on a different shape. Memories walk ahead of you. The people you left behind sometimes look at you through the windows of a new city. And you don’t know whether they are there, or whether you are still there.

To leave, you must let go. Not just of home and language and people, but of yourself. Of the image you thought was you. Of the voice in your head that spoke in a language you sometimes forget now. Your hands become empty, and you realize that emptiness was always there, hidden beneath the weight of everything you were carrying.

In this space, time doesn’t work properly. Sometimes it is morning, and you still don’t know which dream you woke up in. Maybe, on the other side, there is something better than what was left behind. But where is “the other side” when borders no longer have a place?

These images came from that space. From moments when I was neither here nor there. From somewhere where waking and dreaming are so deeply woven together that you no longer know which one you chose, and which one chose you.

I am still standing in that space. And that space is still evolving.