faces of lisbon.
hard to believe, but spring will come. i know for sure (that’s me trying to convince myself) that the cold morning frost will give away, the colours will come. the freeze outside is just a bad april’s fool game.
from the desert bloom to the setting sun
from the first deep breath of “I love you, baby”
colours will come
from the beach to the sea, from the black sand of lava to the ice of the glacier. from fire to ice.
somewhere in london, let’s pretend it’s strasbourg square.