Colourful World

Each day his hand would glide over the countless rows of organized chaos—a colorful world of salt and sweet, a momentary reprise for strangers. Some faces never to be seen again, while he would start to recognize others over time. Like his hand repeating the same motions, they would come to know each other—small moments of routine, interweaving individual journeys. --- We all have our own journeys, and with that, our own stories, the ones we wrote ourselves, the ones others have written about us, and the remnants of those passed down to us by others. These stories and moments shape us, and they leave traces of themselves behind as they silently whisper their secrets into the world. ...View all