0.4% of a month — A quiet text about a short visit in a small room: three hours out of a month, a correct and useless fraction, and what remains after it.
The Flowers No Longer Bloom for Me — A reflective literary text about childhood, a grandmother, memory, flowers, and the fragility of the body. Romanian original with English translation.
When Silence Loses a Tooth — When I need courage, I imagine a blank sheet of paper. A huge one. Endless. And I stand there alone, on that infinity.
Numbness — A literary essay on grief, loss and emotional numbness. A mother sits on a hard chair at her son's wake, unable to cry under the judgmental gazes of those around her. An exploration of mourning, maternal guilt, and unspoken words.
You Haven't Forgotten Me? — Ninety years of memories cling to a single plea: Please, if I no longer know who I am, tell me about myself.
A Little Kinder — Stay with me for a moment. I want to tell you something. It's a memory from an airport, something I witnessed.
The Child — Thank you for the most beautiful dream you haven't had yet. You are a child. You think about superpowers.
The New Game — I'm leaving work later than usual, exhausted, moving in slow motion.
Mom, What's the Meaning of Life? — You are a mother. You carry a general tiredness, a kind of boredom. And suddenly, you hear your two children asking you something.