AKTUALNOŚCI

LIFE IN BLACK & WHITE

There is something peculiar about our tendency to escape into other people’s stories.

We invest an astonishing amount of energy, time, and heart into creating memories with those who exist somewhere on the margins of our lives — met briefly, along the way, at work, in travel, in cafés, in conversations without consequences. With them, we are attentive, curious, fully present. We listen. We look closely. We remember the details.

And then we return to those we say we love — and suddenly, it feels as if we no longer have the hands, the silence, or the focus.

Love, paradoxically, often loses to novelty.

To the thrill of the moment.

To the comforting belief that “there will be time later.”

After all, they are there.

After all, they know.

After all, love “doesn’t require effort.”

Yet love, unlike fleeting encounters, does not feed on the intensity of a single evening. It feeds on presence, repeated day after day. On a gaze that is not rushed. On a conversation that doesn’t end with “later.” On remembering what matters to the other — even if we already know it by heart.

Creating memories with strangers can feel easier because it demands nothing from us. It does not confront us. It does not reflect our shortcomings like a mirror. It does not ask why we only feel tired when it is time to be close.

Meanwhile, those we love see more.

They feel more.

And they notice our absence more painfully.

So perhaps the problem is not that we forget about love.

Perhaps it is that we are afraid of its full intensity.

Because true closeness is not a moment — it is a responsibility.

And memories?

They form anyway.

The only question is whether they are made with those who were always there, or with those who were only passing through.

Bella Argazam

Bella Argazam Photography

bella@bellaargazamphoto.com

All Images & Original Text

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