Lausana

A woman travels from Geneva to Lausanne to visit her son. Through the window of the train, her memories slide inexorably over the lake’s surface. In spite of the passage of time, some memories retain their ability to harm us. Like the moment we begin to lose the person we love. Or the heroic, ridiculous day we decide to keep silent and resist, hoping that something miraculous will happen that will prevent us from turning into spectators of our own existence, always with the fear of breaking the delicate glass surface on which love stories are built.