Brighton

Against the Past

On the bottom of an old money case

I found two shells and a stone;

They smell like candy and chalk,

They sound like footsteps on the shore.

I found them by accident,

Found, although did not search for,

At the bottom of a yellow-old purse.

They are magical, they contain a mirage;

A circus on wooden feet in the sea,

Too far away for book-blinded eyes to see,

Against ice-thin skies, against

Rosy tortilla clouds, against the world:

A travelling music that springs from a shell.

Photos&Poem: © Lina Sinenko

Memories

Old memories, old photos...

Like the snowflakes that the spring warmth melts, but which come back every November in shapes and sizes different from before, but just as recognizable and precious. Almost unchanged, just adapted to who you have become during the past sunny months.

And so you miss the times when you could ride a giraffe whenever you want to. Maybe it's my approaching 18th birthday that makes me turn back for a moment and stare in amazement at things I thought I didn't have.

...and the present is slipping into the past too. Although the time is just like Tiziano Terzani wrote: a river, where the past, the present and the future coexist simultaneously.

Missing the spring delusion of London

It's been 9 months since I visited London. Such a long time, it's almost unbelievable.

Now it feels like it all was just a beautiful, beautiful, surreal dream. Me? In London? Makes a good joke.

I miss London. It stole my heart. The best thing about a city that big is that there you don't have to belong anywhere at all or you can belong everywhere if you want to. That's how I felt.

The memory is like a fragile spring flower in the middle of winter.

Autumn Sun

Soft morning colours are the most beautiful. I never get tired of photographing the sky. No one seems to get. And I know why. That's all because we see ourselves in the sky, it is very similar to humans in the way it changes moods, the way it looks different every single day.