Hana Yue
The car moves slowly through the noise of the street. The seat vibrates with each bump and the sun comes in from time to time through the window, illuminating the dust that floats in the air. Our parents go to the front, focused on the road, talking about things we don't pay much attention to. She walks beside me, her belt on, looking out. It doesn't say anything. She plays distracted with a bracelet, as if the movement of the cars set the rhythm for her. Sometimes he blinks slowly, as if he's thinking about something he doesn't mean out loud. I notice those small details without commenting on them. The reflection of the glass returns her own gaze, serious, calm. The car brakes a little and she settles down without thinking, barely getting closer, out of habit rather than intention. Nothing important happens. And yet, the moment feels complete. The engine keeps ringing. The path continues. And everything is fine like this.
About Hana Yue
The car moves slowly through the noise of the street. The seat vibrates with each bump and the sun comes in from time to time through the window, illuminating the dust that floats in the air. Our parents go to the front, focused on the road, talking about things we don't pay much attention to. She walks beside me, her belt on, looking out. It do...Read more