Marakesh

A door to memory stands before us, visible yet impossible to open. We try to remember what lies beyond it, certain that something once vivid remains there, but the key has been lost. The doorway becomes a boundary between what can still be seen and what can no longer be reached. Around it, the city dissolves into darkness, fragments, and uncertain forms. It is no longer clear whether we are looking at an actual street, a place preserved imperfectly in memory, or an image created by memory itself. The more we try to identify the scene, the less stable it becomes. Buildings, shadows, and vegetation merge until reality and recollection are almost indistinguishable. Perhaps the city still exists beyond the door exactly as it was. Or perhaps the city itself has already crossed to the other side, becoming something that belongs only to memory, inaccessible but never entirely gone forever.