For 61 days I collected what I had lost, hair by hair, strand by strand. Each one a piece of me, a part that detached itself, from the body, from the self, from the flow of time. I pulled them out of the drain, this labyrinth of water and memory, where they got caught, like thoughts that won't let go. Waste, you say? Perhaps. But there is something sacred in this waste, something that belongs only to me, something that I never showed but always carried with me. I scanned them, these fragments of myself, and captured them in digital eternity. They became lines, patterns, a landscape of loss and beauty. For what is art if not the visualization of the invisible? Showing what we otherwise flush away, forget, hide. My hair is not waste. It is a diary, a map of my body, a trace that I leave behind. They contain time, growing, falling, letting go and preserving. They are private, and yet universal. After all, who hasn't lost something that was once a part of them? This work is a ritual, an homage to the ephemeral, to what we leave behind as we move on. It is a reminder that there is beauty even in the lost, and that by looking at it, we honor it.