His back is to us, as if guarding the truth of his expression. Light plays in fractured colors across his hair — violet, ochre, pale gold — the palette of a memory half-remembered. The red collar at his neck flares like a final ember before darkness swallows it whole.
The breath he releases is not smoke alone, but something heavier — the residue of thoughts too dense to speak. It drifts outward, black upon black, vanishing into the void even as it unfurls. There is no motion around him, only the slow, deliberate escape of what he chooses to let go.
“The Weight of Breath” holds the stillness between release and disappearance — a quiet testament to the moments when we are most ourselves, unseen.
