BETWEEN
Between a doorway glowing N°79 and a bar that remembers every hand that rested on it.
Between first drinks and last looks.
Between the city breathing at night and the quiet that comes when two people finally hear each other.
Between glances held a second too long.
Between laughter that spills over ceramic cups.
Between chopsticks hovering, offering, trusting.
Between a skyline dissolving into charcoal air and a table lit by one small flame.
Between public and private.
Between hunger and tenderness.
Between the story we tell the world and the one whispered across a table, across a bar, across a room.
These images don’t move forward.
They hover.
They live in that charged, fragile space
where everything is possible
and nothing has to be explained yet.
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