Not quite smoke. Not quite breath.

Just something human rising, dissolving.

A moment held in vapor, not memory.

The light doesn’t cut through it —

it absorbs it.

As if the city, just for a second, was made of both.

This photograph was made near the entrance of Rijsk Museum in Amsterdam.

It was early morning.

A crowd began to enter — some talking, some silent.

A shaft of winter light poured in. At the same time, someone exhaled vape smoke.

For a few seconds, it lingered —

turning the scene into something half-formed,

where presence and absence blurred.

Nothing was composed.

The timing belonged to the moment, not to me.