Original artwork description:

Morning begins not with light, but with its reflection in dusty windowpanes. The sun—like a listless aquarium fish—nudges against the glass, scattering shadows across the room. The air smells of old books no one reads and coffee that’s already gone cold. This isn’t just a scent—it’s physical nostalgia, a molecular memory of all those mornings you spent tracing the shadows of trees on a white wall.
The melody is like a forgotten dream: you’re certain you know it, but the lyrics elude you. It plays, and you sit there thinking that maybe all of life is just waiting for that one song—the one that will finally explain what any of it meant.
You used to think happiness was something like a train station—a place you’d arrive at one day, buy a ticket, and stay forever. But now you’re here. In this morning, in this room, in this light that doesn’t warm you, only reminds you. And you realize this isn’t longing for the past. It’s longing for the future you once promised yourself.
Yet somewhere beyond the corner, a city waits—one that will someday become the past you’ll miss in another morning, another room, another light.
So maybe it’s alright. Maybe this is what life is.

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