Click
We took our first photograph together.
Your arm extended,
my fingers meeting yours,
in an absurdly human ritual—
the rectangle of trembling glass in your hand
caught our two shy smiles
as the warm light spilled across our cheeks,
our faces aligned like moons
briefly crossing paths
in an intimate eclipse,
as if we could trap a moment that slips
and defy time’s relentless march.
Of all the infinite configurations—
of angles,
of timing,
of souls—
of all the arrangements of light
that could’ve slipped away,
this was the one we chose to keep,
and save from eternal oblivion.
It was a spring evening.
Madrid was peaceful and light,
bathed in a honeyed gleam.
It sighed beneath the sun’s warm caress,
like a sleeper between dreams,
as if the dying star of the day were reluctant to leave
and dragged its golden limbs across rooftops
like a parent unwilling to close the door
on a sleeping child.
The warmth of spring—
and what a spring it was—
had settled over our shoulders
like a cloak of amber light
that we drank
with our awestruck eyes.
Around us,
pigeons strutted in this park
like tiny bureaucrats,
while the breeze carried the rustle
of the gossiping branches.
Nearby was this temple of old,
once cradled by the tides of Nile,
whose stones remembered the heat from another sun,
still warm from that distant desert,
but now perched on a Castilian hill,
beneath these foreign Iberian skies—
like a ghost misplaced by fate.
And sometimes,
don’t we feel the same,
like relics unearthed from other landscapes,
swept by the currents
we never meant to follow—
trying to make a home
in cities that move to unfamiliar rhythms,
where no one remembers the myths
that once raised us?
We were standing mere meters away
from the altars where incense once thickened the air,
where gods dined on gold and blood.
But these gods are long gone.
And this place now receives
nothing but picnic laughter,
the squeals of children chasing soap bubbles,
and the gentle chatter
of modern lovers.
The mountains watched us from afar,
unmoved along the horizon—
their stone-carved faces glowing softly
in the blaze of the sky set aflame behind them.
Above,
clouds unfurled
in velvet waves tinged with saffron and flamingo,
they drifted like heavy curtains
drawn slowly across the sacred stage
where daylight prepared its final bow.
I do not know if any gods
still haunt the ridgelines behind those mountains,
or if they would care enough
to watch a pair of mortals from there—
but if any did,
I like to think they were old,
worn by the centuries,
but peering with a kind, aching nostalgia,
grateful to rest their heavy, tired eyes
on something tender.
Something called our eyes upward.
It was an agave.
Tall. Singular.
Standing like a lone sentinel—surreal.
Its stalk rose with the authority of a cosmic staff,
unfurling into the air,
proud as a forgotten king from a vanished realm,
risen from the earth
like a titan
in a riotous swirl.
It stood wild-haired,
crowned with strange blossoms
like tiny fossilized flames.
Its limbs twisted skyward,
as if reaching
to drag the ether down.
I just kept staring at it—
this strange, otherworldly thing.
I don’t exactly know why.
Maybe because it was so incongruous,
like it had wandered in from some uncharted planet
and just decided to stay.
It was the stillness that unsettled me.
The strange, impossible calm
within me.
I didn’t notice it right away—
struck dumb under the setting sun—
but my skin knew
before my mind did.
I was…
at peace.
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t need to.
The silence said everything.
So I just kissed you.
I was…
at peace.
Because when you pull me
into the softness of your arms,
I remember—
that love can flame,
burst and bloom,
even when we feel out of place—
like this exiled temple,
like the gods who fled their altars
to hide behind the mountains.
I remember
that even when beasts stir in the dark
and gnash their teeth in the shadow
through my sleepless hours—
still, we abide.
Still, peace can rise,
like those strange flower titans
that break through stones
to defy the cities
and reach
ever skyward.
I feel this peace
in the earth beneath our feet,
in the silence
where the old gods rest
and stretch the hours to cradle us.
I feel it in our souls entwined,
in your soft, kind eyes,
in this photograph we took—
this light we chose to keep.
And…
Click.
We took our second photograph together…
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 3:24 PM UTC
Click
We took our first photograph together.
Your arm extended,
my fingers meeting yours,
in an absurdly human ritual—
the rectangle of trembling glass in your hand
caught our two shy smiles
as the warm light spilled across our cheeks,
our faces aligned like moons
briefly crossing paths
in an intimate eclipse,
as if we could trap a moment that slips
and defy time’s relentless march.
Of all the infinite configurations—
of angles,
of timing,
of souls—
of all the arrangements of light
that could’ve slipped away,
this was the one we chose to keep,
and save from eternal oblivion.
It was a spring evening.
Madrid was peaceful and light,
bathed in a honeyed gleam.
It sighed beneath the sun’s warm caress,
like a sleeper between dreams,
as if the dying star of the day were reluctant to leave
and dragged its golden limbs across rooftops
like a parent unwilling to close the door
on a sleeping child.
The warmth of spring—
and what a spring it was—
had settled over our shoulders
like a cloak of amber light
that we drank
with our awestruck eyes.
Around us,
pigeons strutted in this park
like tiny bureaucrats,
while the breeze carried the rustle
of the gossiping branches.
Nearby was this temple of old,
once cradled by the tides of Nile,
whose stones remembered the heat from another sun,
still warm from that distant desert,
but now perched on a Castilian hill,
beneath these foreign Iberian skies—
like a ghost misplaced by fate.
And sometimes,
don’t we feel the same,
like relics unearthed from other landscapes,
swept by the currents
we never meant to follow—
trying to make a home
in cities that move to unfamiliar rhythms,
where no one remembers the myths
that once raised us?
We were standing mere meters away
from the altars where incense once thickened the air,
where gods dined on gold and blood.
But these gods are long gone.
And this place now receives
nothing but picnic laughter,
the squeals of children chasing soap bubbles,
and the gentle chatter
of modern lovers.
The mountains watched us from afar,
unmoved along the horizon—
their stone-carved faces glowing softly
in the blaze of the sky set aflame behind them.
Above,
clouds unfurled
in velvet waves tinged with saffron and flamingo,
they drifted like heavy curtains
drawn slowly across the sacred stage
where daylight prepared its final bow.
I do not know if any gods
still haunt the ridgelines behind those mountains,
or if they would care enough
to watch a pair of mortals from there—
but if any did,
I like to think they were old,
worn by the centuries,
but peering with a kind, aching nostalgia,
grateful to rest their heavy, tired eyes
on something tender.
Something called our eyes upward.
It was an agave.
Tall. Singular.
Standing like a lone sentinel—surreal.
Its stalk rose with the authority of a cosmic staff,
unfurling into the air,
proud as a forgotten king from a vanished realm,
risen from the earth
like a titan
in a riotous swirl.
It stood wild-haired,
crowned with strange blossoms
like tiny fossilized flames.
Its limbs twisted skyward,
as if reaching
to drag the ether down.
I just kept staring at it—
this strange, otherworldly thing.
I don’t exactly know why.
Maybe because it was so incongruous,
like it had wandered in from some uncharted planet
and just decided to stay.
It was the stillness that unsettled me.
The strange, impossible calm
within me.
I didn’t notice it right away—
struck dumb under the setting sun—
but my skin knew
before my mind did.
I was…
at peace.
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t need to.
The silence said everything.
So I just kissed you.
I was…
at peace.
Because when you pull me
into the softness of your arms,
I remember—
that love can flame,
burst and bloom,
even when we feel out of place—
like this exiled temple,
like the gods who fled their altars
to hide behind the mountains.
I remember
that even when beasts stir in the dark
and gnash their teeth in the shadow
through my sleepless hours—
still, we abide.
Still, peace can rise,
like those strange flower titans
that break through stones
to defy the cities
and reach
ever skyward.
I feel this peace
in the earth beneath our feet,
in the silence
where the old gods rest
and stretch the hours to cradle us.
I feel it in our souls entwined,
in your soft, kind eyes,
in this photograph we took—
this light we chose to keep.
And…
Click.
We took our second photograph together…