3 days in Naples.

I tried to understand a relationship that was at once romantic, destructive, and deeply complex. It was the kind of bond that stirs up a whirlwind of emotions unpredictable, overwhelming, and strangely beautiful.

We both felt stuck. Together, we were something unfairly beautiful two people drawn to each other while searching for a love that was free and gentle.

But what we had didn’t belong to reality. It floated in a suspended dimension, made of moments that were never fully lived, of things that never were and never could be.

We spent our time doing the only thing we truly knew how to do: observing each other.

Sometimes we didn’t even touch. Other times, it was nothing more than a kiss.

We weren’t defined by gestures, but by tension, presence, and absence.

She was 20, I was 40.

And yet, together, we blurred all lines between youth and age, innocence and experience.

We became both children and adults, timeless and without boundaries.

With Nina, I lived moments that were as incredible as they were absurd some filled with sweetness, others with quiet melancholy. Every time I tried to get closer, she slipped further away. Eventually, I had to let her go.

It became clear that I couldn’t keep chasing something that refused to be caught.

Still, the dream remained. A fragile, persistent dream wrapped in the softness of a love that was never truly mine,

yet felt stronger than many that were.

That kind of love that most of us have experienced at least once. The one we never forget.

And so we took one final trip together.

Not to resolve anything, but to preserve it through images, memories, fleeting moments.

A way to hold on to something that never had a clear shape, and never will.

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