DIRECTOR’S STATEMENT ABOUT THE PROJECT

Much like Maggie, I have always been drawn to romanticizing my past. My work often returns to grief and the emotional terrain of my youth, an homage to my late mother, but also an attempt to understand how memory can both comfort and trap us. In my own life, I found myself holding onto relationships that became extensions of that grief, people who functioned as touchstones to a version of myself I wasn’t ready to let go of. This film marks a turning point for me—a way of acknowledging that pull while choosing to move forward.

I’m interested in the liminal spaces we inhabit when we are caught between what has been and what could be. The characters in this film exist in that in-between: surrounded by a natural world that often feels suspended in time. There’s a ghostly quality to that feeling, not in a literal sense, but in the way memory lingers in objects, in language, in the spaces we return to.

What follows is an intimate, bittersweet story about unconventional motherhood, asexuality, family grief, and the complicated process of release. I’m drawn to stories where very little “happens” on the surface, but everything is shifting underneath—where silence, duration, and environment carry as much weight as dialogue.

At its core, this is a film about learning how to live in the present. It’s for anyone who feels stuck—caught in the gravity of the past or projecting into an imagined future—and needs the reminder that life is happening now. The ending doesn’t offer neat resolution, but rather the suggestion of repair: that even frayed bonds can begin to mend, and that moving forward doesn’t require letting go entirely, but learning how to carry the past differently.