Collage

They run, they fall, they fly, they stumble, and they rise. Then they slip into silence, and run again.
They are suspended scenes, ghosts of the past. Figures out of time and space, halfway between dream and vision. Each with a story to tell, each with something to teach.

They speak to us of anguish, of fears and tears shed for someone too soon torn from their arms, but also of moments of joy and serenity, where a caress or a smile is all one could wish for. And in doing so, they remind us of the importance of memory, and how essential it is for understanding the present.

Of that time when they were miraculously saved from a bomb too close; or when he finally managed to steal that long-dreamed kiss.
And as we see all this, we suffer and rejoice with them.
Then, all of a sudden, those living figures turn back into simple scraps of old photographs. The images fade, dissolving into gray.

And so everything flows again as before, with the same frenzy that sweeps us away like a river in flood, carrying off all the ghosts.