Library

This is a silent book that attempts to annotate silent pain. It contains the private notes of a young writer during his long confrontation with his own depression. There are no earth-shattering stories in the book, only trivial wear and tear day after day: a scratched suitcase, a watch with an abnormal heart rate, a yellowed medical certificate, a friend who always shares the sunset in the circle of friends... This is not a book that provides answers, it is just a conclusive proof of existence, proving that someone has lived so painfully and seriously, that those spiritual wounds that cannot be seen by the naked eye are also destructive, and that under the endless indifference and exhaustion, there is still a primitive desire for love, beauty, and a faint light.