When my mood is lightly seasoned with melancholy, I grab my camera and head for the water. Not to drown in thoughts, but to turn the world upside down.
A warm evening in Trebinje. The town is quiet and cozy, but the river feels even more so. It invites you to peek into its world, almost like a portal to another reality, a kind of looking glass.
Stone houses, restaurant lights, bridges: the water doesn't copy this world, it gives it a professional retouch. It softens the edges and blurs away the unnecessary motion. Above is reality with all its rules. Below is a version for those with a bit of imagination.
But what if real life is actually down there, in the water? Where lights burn brighter, everything seems to float in weightlessness, and things just feel calmer. The people sitting on the terraces above probably think they're the main characters. But maybe they're only reflections of the real guests from the other side.
And that barely noticeable boatman? He's not just holding the line between worlds. He's more like the manager, making sure the reflections of the houses stay aligned, the ripples don't smudge the outlines, and no one switches off the lights in the underwater part of the restaurant.
That bus rushing across the bridge, is it even a bus? More like a spacecraft making a jump into hyperspace. The blurred streak of light turns into a pulse. That's what speed looks like when it takes form.
And what's that object? Hardly just a bridge pillar reflected in the river. More like a submarine on patrol. It just knows how to disguise itself as architecture so it doesn't scare the tourists.
Ah yes, the pink heart with the words come again. Up above, it's a friendly invitation. But down there, beneath the surface, it feels more like a spell: there's no way back.
That's how inner reflection finds its reflections outside. The other reality is always more interesting.
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