Four seasons and 100 snapshot of Malta, the beautiful and picturesque Mediterranean island. More photos on my Instagram (@noerive).
Sunny limestone rock,
Glowing at sunset.
No trees, no forests,
No mountains, no rivers,
Just buildings and sea.
Blue, teal and turquoise,
Painful rocky beaches.
Quaint old buildings,
Narrow bumpy pavements,
Rubbish on the street.
It was just an evening romance.
As ephemeral as the first raindrops that moisten his face.
Or the fleeting kiss of the waves on the rocks.
It lasted what it takes for an autumn leaf to touch the ground.
The silence between the breaths of two lovers.
Guilty tears running down her face.
Long before the sun dropped its golden veil over the sea
And the lighthouse fell asleep,
They were gone.
Because it was just an evening romance.
They were standing on the edge of the cliff of the small island while they gazed at the sun disappearing in the horizon. He held her hand gently and she smiled, eyes fixed on the big orange orb.
When the last chunk of sun was swallowed by the sea, she took a step forward and whispering something he could barely hear, released his hand. In a blink of an eye she was gone. She had jumped. He leaned over the cliff looking for answers, but he couldn’t see her, there was no her falling. Instead, a thousand birds of all colours emerged from the bottom of the cliff, flying towards the end of the sea.
Now she is the wind that those birds leave behind. Now she is free. She can sing through the tiny holes of the cliffs. She can dance with the leaves of the trees.
She can travel with the rays of the sun to warm him up in the cold winter. She can be the morning breeze caressing his skin. The flutter of eyelashes laying next to him. The breath of an I love you she never dared to say.
Reconozcámoslo, EE. UU. es un país lleno de rarezas, tanto política, religiosa como socialmente hablando. Y esta recopilación de instantáneas tomadas en mi último viaje a las Américas es prueba de ello. Pasen y vean.
You always find
Your way out nicely.
You will eventually meet
Your water grave.
Painter and artist,
You conscientiously leave
Your smeary footprint.
Colossal or wee,
What a wonderful pleasure is
To set you free.
Once you’re gone
I will never miss you.
11 ilustraciones de diferente temática y técnica. Expresión artística para matar el tiempo, sin pretensiones.
Sangrienta, aterradora; te hará reír, te hará llorar. Pero sobre todo, te hará sufrir. Fecha de estreno: cada 28 días.
He whispered something she could not understand and caressed her skin. And an intense heat invaded her body, invisible flames slowly covered her pale skin. She stared into his eyes and took his hand gently. And he too became into a fireball.
She whispered something he could not understand and they melted into a kiss. And the room burst into flames. The sofa, the chairs, the table, the curtains. Everything was on fire, the light was blinding, but they did not care, they just could not stop kissing.
None of them understood what was going on, they had no control over their bodies, they were burning and they did not know why.
And there was not any him nor her anymore, they were a single being in flames, two hearts beating in unison. And when dawn caught them by surprise they were nothing but ashes. Ashes ready to be blown away forever by the cold northern wind.