The boy saw the world only in black and white. A bright glow surrounded everything, like a vignette of blinding light that framed the image but hid nothing. Colors were stories that others told, stories he couldn't understand. His parents had taken him to many doctors,
I see her in Venice, one afternoon when the sun is low, and the shadows grow long. She leans casually against an old stone wall, a cigarette between her lips, watching the hustle and bustle of the city with a look of serene detachment. It seems
As a small side street in Sarajevo, hidden from the hustle and bustle of the main roads, I am a silent witness to history. My cobblestones have borne the weight of centuries and heard the stories of countless people. Here, historical figures, changing rulers, and ordinary
The sun stands high in the sky over the Old North Cemetery in Munich. It's a hot summer day, and the old cemetery provides an oasis of tranquility in the midst of the city. Between weathered gravestones and monumental statues, people have spread out their towels.
Beneath the bustling streets of the city, hidden from the sunlight and the daily hustle, lies a world of transition and waiting. Metro stations are like silent temples of modernity, where the rush of trains and the murmurs of announcements are the only music. Here, deep
In the silent, grey streets of Munich, where the sun only timidly breaks through the clouds and the cold grips the souls of passersby, live the Invisible. They are not ghosts, but men and women of flesh and blood, who eke out a fragile existence under