During a walk through the forest next to my house, I decided to enter an abandoned house located just before the entrance to the path. At first, I hesitated and explored it only from the outside. The following day, I decided to return. Entering the interior marks a transition. I took a breath and stepped inside, the sound changed, the air grew thinner. The walls were covered with graffiti and dampness. The ceiling was peeling, rubbish was scattered everywhere, and a mattress functioned as a trace of human life. The house is not simply a ruin, it is a space of decay and lingering presence.
After leaving, the walk through the forest continues. The outside space remains the same, yet the experience has shifted. Breathing does not fully return to normal. Every image of the forest activates memories of the interior. The water recalls the dampness, the trunks resemble the columns, the leaves the mattress, the stones the rubbish. The boundary between the two spaces begins to dissolve. Breathlessness becomes a psychological condition. The film does not provide an answer as to whether the house is still inhabited. It leaves open the possibility of human presence, just as it leaves open the boundary between freedom and confinement.