In Portugal, I found a car that had forgotten how to leave.

It stood behind an old metal gate, faded and quiet, while the rest of the world went on without it.

Something about it made me linger. It felt both familiar and unreachable, as though I had arrived somewhere I was meant to recognize but couldn’t quite place.

There is always a small distance between what I can see and what I actually know. I’ve never been very good at leaving that space alone.

Perhaps that’s why my eyes find the art first.

I see what is beautiful before I wonder why.

In that space between seeing and knowing, uncertainty leaves room for my imagination to wander.

Eventually, answers come.

But until they do, there is still possibility.

And I’ve always preferred to leave a little room for that.