Our lives are built through moments. Some, the positive ones, we choose to remember, keeping objects associated with them. Something like keys, to restore them in our memory.

Like the first custom-made suit with our initials on the inner lining. Something more than a memory. An image of an initiation ceremony into maturity.

Hemingway’s underlined sentences, on the pages of his book swollen by the humidity of the sea, are not just part of a story you lived with her on an island. “…and if now is only two days, then two days are your life and everything else in it adjusts proportionally…”.

The polaroid with her dedication. You feel the intensity of a summer that never really ended. “As if you were looking at me…”.

The black cover of “Bad Co”. Songs that made your heart beat fast at a party where the world seemed endless. “I can’t get enough of your love…”.

The leather jacket you wore as a student with its frayed seams. Witness to the years you chased dreams. Scraps of plane tickets to Paris remind you of streets full of laughter, adventure and a city that made you feel alive. “We’ll always have Paris…”.

Moments and objects. Different for each one. Pieces of a complex personal puzzle of the moments that shaped us. They remind us of the person we were. The life we ​​loved. And what it means to truly live, in a digitally networked world that preserves its memories on a battery-powered mobile phone.

It is our personalized, analog code.

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