A dim glimpse of light venting through the pores of a wall
seamlessly blending into soft beams of the sun
the wall breathes, inhaling debris of what is left behind in the room
After a little while, curtains billow with the exhalation
A tender breeze foreshadows an inscribing of new transient memories

Memories are fleeting by nature. Being inevitably fragile, they become tangible only in a reconstructed fictional form. The real narratives, then, are constantly outcasted to the position where one is to be replaced by another. When residing in a domestic environment, they untangle themselves in the peripheral spaces of a house hoping to be desired and reached. The tiniest corrosion on the walls turns into clues. So does the floor, an armchair, the window and an envelope. The recreation of domestic settings -a scene that is replaced with fictionalised objects re-renders the narratives that secretly dwell at home. The fragments are recollected, unfolded and presented like a verse that does not rhyme.