Faded Blueprints of an Exhibition Room

Dear Delyara, I was cleaning up my cloud storage tonight and came across the shared folder we used when we were planning the London exhibition—budgets, gallery floor plans, artist bios, and dozens of high-resolution images of jewelry art pieces. The last edit was made the day before the accident. I sat with my finger hovering over the delete icon for ten minutes, my heart rate spiking as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff. I know keeping the folder serves absolutely no purpose, but deleting it feels like an act of secondary violence, like I am willingly wiping out the evidence of our old hope.