Between the shadow and the mountain
a thread of light still remains.
It is not forgiveness that I seek,
it is to understand that I lost you
and that within that loss something living blooms.
I hurt you — I know —
like someone breaking a branch
without seeing that a song nested in it.
Now I hear the echo,
distant,
and I know it was your voice.
The landscape is still there,
quiet, patient,
while life begins to grow again
in the corners where you are no longer.
I wish the sun finds you first,
that your days be gentle,
that the wind does not remind you of me.
I remain here,
in this shadow that looks outward,
learning that hope
can also take the shape of farewell.
Photography by Isaac Castillo Soto

Veracruz-born architect based in Monterrey. Since 2024, I’ve found a new love in analog photography. I live forever in love with architecture, reading, and Argentine empanadas.
