Translating one's own (or the symptom to be remembered)

As the gaze sinks into the landscape, a relationship disintegrates, leaving love as a fleeting memory between archives and dreams. The writing of the days is imprinted on traces that repeat themselves in a constant déjà vu. Pain becomes noise and dissolves like particles in the air, in an attempt to reconstruct the inevitable. A leap into the void between the desire to remain and the impulse to erase a wound.