Lioness.

youtu.be/8cPB2XL_CpU?si=gQQsSHGanBH5-kfe

 

 

J’ai perdu toute ma galerie à cause d’une mauvaise manipulation… faite sous le choc d’un commentaire qui m’a profondément blessée.

Je suis épuisée. Ce que ce site me fait vivre depuis mes débuts est lourd à porter.

Mais malgré tout : je ne m’arrêterai jamais de créer. Jamais."

 

 

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"I lost my entire gallery because of a wrong move… made under the shock of a comment that deeply hurt me.

I’m exhausted. What this platform has put me through since the beginning is heavy to carry.

But despite everything: I will never stop

creating. Never."

 

Dear, Dimitry, ( Road Runner)

 

I replied to you.

But the response was not the mirror you desired for your gallery.

Since you deleted them and kept your questioning as if I had never answered you.

Be honest.

Blind I can understand.

But be a man and take responsibility.

Save your honor and leave my response.

 

Yes, I will tell you, because it’s clear that you do not realize what you have done.

 

I lost my entire gallery—months of work, emotion, of myself—because of you.

 

I didn’t fully understand how Flickr works, and I wasn’t looking for recognition or validation. I was sharing sincerely, from the heart. I wasn’t seeking praise. I was offering a part of myself—raw, sensitive, unfiltered. And now, it’s all gone.

 

I thought I was only deleting a few film rolls. I never imagined it would erase everything. All those memories, all that time and emotional investment—gone in an instant.

 

Do you remember the last abstract photo I posted? The one you clearly didn’t take the time to look at properly? That image came from a place in the South of France, a place I often visited with my husband.

My husband, whom I have lost.

And today, for the first time, I went there alone. I don’t even know why I took the picture—it was instinctive. It hurt. But I did it.

 

When I shared it, I was speaking of time. Not the time shown on a clock. The time you feel inside. The kind that pushes you to move forward even when everything is breaking you. That kind of time.

 

And you commented:

“Tic tic😃😃😆”

 

Do you realize how violent that is? How indifferent? How cruel?

 

That wasn’t just a photo. It was pain. A memory. It was me, in my vulnerability.

And you responded with emojis, as if it were all a joke.

 

Do you have any idea what it feels like when someone tramples your grief with a mocking smile?

Of course not.

And worst of all—you don’t even remember what you wrote.

 

That’s what hurts the most. Not just your comment, but the fact that I believed you were different. I thought you paid attention, that you understood, that you felt.

I was wrong.

 

You never really looked.

Like so many others, you skimmed over, wrote something hollow, and moved on.

 

But I am not hollow.

My work was not just a collection of meaningless images.

It was my pain, my memories, my connection to what I have lost.

 

And now, all of that is gone.

 

I doubt you will ever truly understand the depth of this wound.

But I had to tell you—because staying silent would have hurt even more.

 

But you blocked all your comments.

You need to take responsibility, not hide like a child—especially at your age.

You picked the wrong woman with me!

I may be kind and sensitive, but I do not tolerate disrespect.

Done