en Cuevana. A woman lives alone in a hotel room. Dreaming of the city, she gets lost in its intricacies, etching her skin silently, chiseling at the limit of her consciousness, reconstructing her image. Slowly she grows older. Slowly she films herself, the city, and her dreams for a month. With some objects, a routine, and a deep desire to feel, she escapes. The night comes silently, a door opens, and she walks away. The house is a body that flies. This is her journey from loneliness to aloneness.
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