This project is a quiet attempt to make sense of the spaces where memory and imagination overlap. It’s about those fleeting moments we lived but didn’t fully understand—the way our younger selves built fragile dreams of love, connection, and belonging. These images and videos aren’t just recreations—they’re reflections. They carry the weight of nostalgia and the faint ache of longing, like an old song playing softly in another room.

I still think about my first girlfriend sometimes. How unexpected it was. How we tiptoed around our families, convinced we were keeping a secret no one could see. But in hindsight, I’m sure they all knew. That relationship taught me about the edges of myself—what I could give and what I couldn’t.

And then there’s her—the first woman I thought I’d marry. I can still hear her saying ‘I love you’ on our first date, and how I said it back, without hesitation or fear. Everything felt sharp, bright, and inevitable. But beginnings like that have a way of ending just as intensely. I let her go because I wasn’t ready to stay, and she deserved someone who was. She moved on while I stood still, caught in the illusion that we were only paused.

When I close my eyes, these are the moments that surface: laughter tangled in golden light, whispered words fading into twilight, the weightless feeling of being truly seen by someone. But these aren’t just memories—they’re fragments of a story I once told myself about who I wanted to be.

Through a mix of film, video, and digital images—softened with vintage textures and faded tones—Of Love Lost Remembered feels like flipping through an old box of photographs. Each piece holds a story, but together, they tell something larger: a love letter to moments that felt infinite, even if they weren’t meant to last.