Day Without People: ???

??? ??, ??, ??? ???? ??? ??? ?? ??? ??? ??. ?? ??? ???? ???? ??? ????, ??? ?? ??? ????? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??? ????? ??? ???? ?? ?? ????? ???. ??? ??? ? ???? ??? ??? ??? ???? ???? ?? ????? ??. ? ??, ? ??? ???? ??? ??? ??? ???, ??? ?? ??? ??? ?? ? ?? ??? ???? ??? ??? ??. ? ???? ??? ??? ??? ? ? ??. ??? ??? ?? ?? ?? ?? ????? ????? ??? ??? ??? ???? ? ???. Almost boring movies, thursday mornings when your joints crack, phrases that only express one thing, and the subtle rush of air leaking through a tiny hole in a vacuum bag. Beneath the surface of our daily life are our hidden emotions and experiences, intricately weaving into our inner world, impatiently waiting to be brushed away. We find ourselves spending our time with the incessant engagement in the cycles of creation, adaptation, and the inevitable forgetting. Day in and day out, consumed in a perpetual state of innovation and production, we witness the birth of new lives, fighting with the painful reality of saying goodbye to those who were once an integral part of our lives. Accepting the gradual fading of memories, only leaving behind fragments of the past to hold onto. This very moment in time, this specific place, the unique people we meet, and the tangible objects in our surroundings are the dots that draw a constellation that nobody knows, and nobody has ever seen. It remains hidden, like an undiscovered dusty corner under a kitchen cupboard, until it gets swept away. Beneath the surface of our daily life are our hidden emotions and experiences, intricately weaving into our inner world, impatiently waiting to be brushed away.