Poetry & Photography

Il est un temps où l'on dépose les pierres,
Celles que l'on porte au secret de son cœur,
Pour retrouver enfin la lumière,
Et laisser s'en aller le poids des douleurs.

They smile like the dawn, yet carry the night within their words.

Brussels is a city that dies on its feet. I have watched it dying for many years now. All that remains is an icy breath wandering among stones that no longer believe in morning. An ancient weariness has settled upon its streets like an everlasting ash, and every dawn resembles the one before, as though time itself had grown too...