Tempus finit.

[Julian Tanase]

The silence of the room traces the contours of its emptiness. The stroke of midnight brings the silence down in millions of shards as many moments in time, all falling slowly in the chasms of nothingness, gliding down to a final understanding. Time records and preserves, in its passing and wisdom, all the unheard stories, unlived dreams, spent hopes, hidden desires never shared, all past now.

Time is the master of lives turned to dust. Time is impersonal and cold, it only glances from an eternal, slow moving moment to us, the passers-by. It knows all, sees all, forgets and forgives all.

When time cease to have us, we cease to have time. It speeds up, leaving us all behind, without even looking back, and soon time is no more.

And then, after a while, it’s time again.

​

 

[Brian Moore]

I'm not sure what's more beautiful, Julian...your photo or your prose.

 

[Julian Tanase]

Thank you, Brian. That prose comes from a place of grief.

 

[Tony Warren]

Beautiful but bittersweet indeed Julian.

 

[Julian Tanase]

Thank you, Tony!

 

[Gianluca Drago]

@Julian Tanase, thank you for having shared your mind and your visualisation of it with us.