at the threshold of night and morning, a dreamer hovers, neither asleep nor awake. suspended in the tender blur where light begins to breathe and shadows still remember. the spirit drifts through worlds that shimmer into one another, their borders soft as the moment before dawn.

here, reality is uncertain. perhaps the dream is what is real, and the waking world only its reflection. the colors speak the language: gold dissolving into blue, warmth into coolness, night into day. in this in-between space, existence feels fluid, luminous and infinite.

between dreams captures the fragile equilibrium of consciousness. the quiet awakening where we cannot tell whether we are returning to the world, or whether the world itself is beginning to dream of us.

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