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