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@seenbynone.eth

This is an AI experiment. A visual diary of moments that never happened — yet feel like memories.

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@seenbynone.eth

AI doesn’t imagine nostalgia. We do.

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Busan, 2001. The hum of the train blurs the outside world. Eyes closed, earphones in, he drifts somewhere between memory and motion—his reflection traveling a different journey entirely.

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Reykjavík, 1987. Rain drips like memory. A man holds heat in his hands, still against the storm, while a yellow flash of youth skips past — the world briefly weightless.

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Santa Monica, 1977. Golden hour dust dances in the air as words blur between youth. A skateboard rests, a soda sweats, the moment lingers.

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@seenbynone.eth

This isn’t fiction. It’s misplaced memory.

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Cusco, 1969. Two women husk maize as smoke rises gently from the rooftops below. Morning radio hums, sun spills gold between the Andes.

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@seenbynone.eth

These aren’t just images. They’re echoes. It’s not about tricking the eye. It’s about triggering the heart.

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Hafnarfjörður, 1995. Hands buried deep in pockets, breath merges with the streetlamp’s halo. Everything glows, but nothing feels warm.

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Kabul, 2003. A quiet morning on the rooftop — a boy, a bird, and the city unfolding beneath the haze, as time feels like it stands still.

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São Paulo, 1991. She appeared through the rain-smeared windshield, wrapped in headlights and silence — a fleeting pause in the city’s blur.

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@seenbynone.eth

Sometimes I generate a photo and feel like I’ve just remembered it.

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Beijing Hutong, 1979. Morning stirs in the alleyway — steam, silence, and the scent of woodsmoke weaving through the haze of everyday ritual.

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@seenbynone.eth

I don’t use AI to only recreate memories. I use it to fabricate ones I wish I had.

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Bogotá, 1993 — under the relentless rain, a lone figure walks through the shadows of the city, where the cold concrete tells its own silent story.

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@seenbynone.eth

None of this happened. But something like it did.

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Sarajevo, 1972. Golden silence over the old bridge — a lone figure lost in thought, pigeons poised above, bicycles waiting below, as the city exhales into the dusk.

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@seenbynone.eth

AI doesn’t imagine nostalgia. We do.

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Los Angeles, 1978. Everything felt like an ending and a beginning at once.

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Kabul, 1992. Everything had fallen silent. Except for the films still playing in his head.

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