(essay)

In the city where streets lose their names, and names seek their streets, life flows unnoticed yet perceptibly. People rush as if trying to escape their shadows, and the shadows, in turn, follow them like echoes of the past trying to catch up with the future. In this dance of time, where seconds are more significant than hours, and hours lose their meaning in the face of eternity, everyone plays their role.

The artist in this city is not just a creator but also a creation, forced to find harmony between being and non-being. He paints streets that search for names, and names that have lost their streets. His brush is a bridge between worlds, where each stroke is not just color, but also time, pausing to admire the moment.

Love in this city is not just a feeling but also a trial. It forces hearts to beat in the rhythm of streets that lose their names, and names that search for their streets.

Here people love like nowhere else because they know: to love means to be alive, and to be alive means to search ceaselessly.

The changing of roles is an eternal game where the past can become the future, and the future has already been the past once. In this city, where each day is a new story written with old words, and each night is a forgotten song found again, life and art intertwine, creating a unique symphony of existence.

Thus, the city where streets search for names, and names search for streets, lives, and breathes like a legend that is reborn every day. It reminds us: to find, one must first get lost, and to get lost, sometimes all it takes is just to find.