March moves through the streets in a slow, luminous thread. Sunlight lingers longer on the backs of coats, on the quiet swell of skin beneath careful touch. Sunglasses hover half-opaque, shielding, observing; white jeans fold around legs like an afterthought. The air is a scent: Sunkissed Goddess, warm, elusive. Everything becomes a study of light and form, of how we present ourselves to it, and perhaps to no one at all.
