A story unfolds through my grandmother’s memory as she reads her diary recounting peculiar experiences, her insomnia, and a day when she found her childhood journal with a page of Rimbaud’s verse. A second screen shows a reconstruction of the spaces of her childhood. A compilation of sites which echoes in similarity to those described as silhouettes of factories and a canal sunset conjures nostalgia. Subtle shifts in her wrinkles and breath, slowly unveil the decaying of life, family, and infuse her day-dream into reality.