No More What Ifs

The Amalfi Coast in monochrome. Positano's stacked buildings cling to steep cliffs, boats cluster along pebbled shores, terraces cut geometric patterns into the rockface. Shot in high-contrast black and white, the color drained until only light and shadow remain—empty chairs facing the sea, a figure silhouetted against distant lights, the architecture of a place that holds something unspoken.

Two empty chairs face the sea. An ornate railing, layered clouds over a distant coastline, everything rendered in charcoal and silver because the color has been taken away. Night falls, or maybe it was always night—a dark mountain silhouette, city lights scattered along the water like something half-remembered. A figure stands at a railing overlooking all of it, just a shape against the distant glow. The coastline reveals itself slowly. An aerial view shows a pier and small boats, the geometry of shoreline and water in shades of slate and gray. The famous hillside town appears—buildings stacked impossibly on steep cliffs, dense and vertical, clinging to the rock like they have something to prove. Boats cluster along the shore as waves break on a pebbled beach. Someone stands on that beach, the cliffside rising behind them, small against all that architecture. More hillside views—terraces and trees, sunlit but still without color, the monochrome flattening everything into shapes of light and shadow. A cliffside walkway seen from above, terraces cutting geometric patterns into the rock. And then the ending: a figure in profile, looking out over the ocean, open water and a distant horizon, soft gray and silver, the reflection finally complete.