Ever since I was little I’ve been afraid of death, not even my own, but the death of those around me, the people I love. Then I thought to myself that people aren’t the only ones who die. Everything does, sooner or later. What do I do with this thought? Lie down and wait for my own turn? No, because I am alive and everyone and everything that is no more, can still reside in my memories and thoughts. It’s easier for me to represent something that is not human, something seemingly unimportant and quotidian in order for me to talk about these things and commemorate. The images are gray and fading, as are the memories I carry with me, eroded by the passing of the years. Certain details are hidden most of the time, beautiful moments of kindness and joy, which rarely come back to me, but always return with a color of their own and a special glow, like precious stones, found only by those who know where to look, or out of dumb luck.