The photograph reveals only an empty station, wrapped in light and shadow, where metallic architecture rises like a vast, silent vault. It is the geometry of emptiness offered to the gaze: lines that do not merely support space, but seem to guard the memory of time. Everything there exists before form and beyond time, as if the moment itself had learned to breathe.
At the center, a human figure moves forward. It walks without a name, without a face, almost dissolved in light. It is someone — and it is everyone. A body in transit, symbol of a nameless crossing, following the path before the path. It does not cross merely a platform, but a state of being. Solitude here does not weigh; it reveals itself quietly, as the shared solitude of all who pass.
Light descends through the structure, cutting the space and drawing long shadows across the floor. A contrast that does not wound, only suggests. As if time, weary of running, had chosen to pause. When time breathes, the place ceases to be passage and becomes interval — a pause between worlds, an invisible space where something shifts without announcement.
The parallel tracks remain empty. There is no train, no sound — only promise. Lines of waiting, contained movement, suspended futures. A place where nothing departs, and yet everything is about to happen. Between departures and infinity, we realize that leaving is not always movement; sometimes it is simply the acceptance of silence.
There are, however, lapses. Cracks in the fabric of reality. Moments when solitude seems to yield and something — unseen, undefined — walks beside us. Presences that approach by designs beyond our control or by choices made without full awareness. They remain for an uncertain time, fulfilling a role we rarely understand while it unfolds.
These unknown energies do not arrive to stay. They draw near and drift away, briefly touching the journey before resuming their own orbit. Approach and distance are part of the journey’s dynamic, in a universe where nothing is static and where bonds, however intense they seem, are fragile and transient — though we resist admitting it. They are like faint sparks of light, barely illuminating our awareness of our own insignificance before the infinite universe. It is in this tension between the fluidity of existence and the human desire for permanence that attachment is born. And when attachment ignores impermanence, it ceases to be a bond and begins to wound the soul.
So we continue. Between light and what came before.
We continue. Still.
From light to now, we walk toward the eternal, between storms and calm.
Almost imperceptible, like echoes passing through the reading.
Nothing imposes itself; everything whispers.
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— The reading of reality must be guided by intellectual honesty and by an awareness of the limits of human reason. From a micro perspective, it is always partial and specific to the subject, not to others, and does not, by itself, guarantee a macro or deeply interpretative vision of reality. Such a stance requires critical vigilance against dogmatic reductionisms, including those expressed in the form of absolute realism or positivism, as well as the confrontation of uneducated instinctive impulses inherent to human nature. This attitude does not signify epistemological weakness, but rather expresses reflective humility and ethical maturity in the face of the complexity of the real.
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