Watcher's Glow (2023) Photographie par Lucas Biston Reichling (LBR Photojourney)

In the darkness, a light hangs, quiet and distant. It doesn’t chase the shadows away, just floats there, alone, watching. Its gaze is cold, smooth, and perfect—too perfect to see through. It keeps its thoughts to itself, showing nothing but its light. Yet, there’s something more behind that glow, something you can feel even if you can’t see it.
It watches, not to judge or to learn, but because it has to. It watches because it remembers, because it holds onto the moments that would disappear if no one was there to see them. It watches because the world needs witnesses, even silent ones. And even though its surface is glazed and unreadable, its presence feels heavy, like it carries the weight of all it has seen.
There’s a loneliness in its glow, a longing that it can never express. It watches everything but touches nothing, sees every movement but stays still. It reaches out with its light but never connects. It’s close yet far away, a quiet guardian of moments that no one else noticed.
You turn to leave, but its glow stays with you, an afterimage burned into your mind. It’s still watching, long after you’ve looked away. And you realize that its light isn’t just about seeing the world. It’s about holding onto it, keeping it alive even as time moves on. It’s not just a watcher—it’s a keeper of moments, a witness that remembers long after the world has forgotten.

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