Helen Island

On the outskirts of the Parisian sprawl, we drift through the evening hush, our steps tracing the edges of a world half-lit.
The air crackles—charged, restless. Somewhere, we hear the city hums, a distant, roaring tide.
And there is this stranger, curious, starry-eyed, looking at us.
We stop, tilt our heads together, a faint smile :

« I scream, you scream ! Everyday is a new *silence*
It was all paradoxical
Fullness in the crisis

Silence is priceless »