Backlighting

At the edge of the village, where the road stretched toward the horizon, Miguel and Rosa stood waiting for a ride to a small, solitary beach—a haven to escape the lingering September heat.  “There’s one. Stop it,” Miguel said.  Rosa raised her hand, and a screeching halt broke the quiet. They hurried to the car.
“Can you take us to the beach?” Miguel asked.
“Get in,” replied the driver, his prominent beard catching the light. “Stopped for your beard. Don’t see many these days,” he added with a grin, stroking his own. 
 
The winding road carried them swiftly away from the city, closer to the solitude they craved. At the beach, they thanked the driver, who vanished in a cloud of dust, leaving only tire tracks behind. Rosa exhaled, relieved to be free of the breakneck speed. They followed a dirt path down to the shore, smiling at its emptiness. It was a weekday evening, just past six, and the deserted beach was exactly what they’d hoped for. In the early days of their bond, they needed this shared solitude to uncover each other’s depths.
 
They settled on the sand near some rocks, spreading their towels. In their swimsuits, Miguel slipped off his watch, casting aside time itself. For someone who battled the clock daily, this was his victory. They lit a cigarette, drawing on it slowly, savoring each moment. “Why rush? That’s for others,” they thought. They lingered on the overlooked: the smoke curling into the air, the rhythmic kiss of waves on the shore, the weary sun warming their skin, the electric brush of each other’s hands. “It’s love—a static spark,” they mused silently. They were a perfect fit: trivial to those too jaded to dream, everything to them, who saw life’s true measure.
The cigarette burned out.
“Shall we swim?” Miguel offered.  They sprang up. Miguel’s methodical nature tamed Rosa’s wild impulses, while she softened his rigidity when needed. “Everything in its time,” he often said. They raced to the water, splashing foam with each step. At waist-deep, they dove in.
“Bloody hell, it’s full of seaweed!” Miguel shouted.  Rosa laughed, dodging him in the water. They played, chasing without catching, until exhaustion drew them back to shore. Miguel grumbled about the red seaweed clinging to his legs. “Disgusting!”  Hand in hand, they waded toward the sun, its low rays turning the sea into a shimmering mirror.
“We’ve got to capture this light,” Miguel said, eyeing the perfect conditions for photos.
“Wait,” Rosa murmured.  She wanted to drink in the moment, to fill the hollows left by days before him. Her skin glowed like the water, alive with the same radiance.
“Your refractive index is off the charts,” Miguel teased, reading her thoughts.  They reached the shore. Miguel shook off the seaweed with exaggerated hops, and they paused, gazing into each other’s eyes. Words piled up unspoken, held back by the weight of emotion. Their lips drew near. A rogue wave crashed over them, burying them in foam. Laughing, they crawled to the sand, their teeth glinting in the sunlight. On the shore, they stared at the boundless sea.  “Let’s move a bit,” Miguel suggested.  They ran along the water’s edge, stomping the dying waves. Back at their towels, Miguel dried his hands and grabbed his camera. He framed Rosa through the lens, chasing new angles, contrasts, profiles, backlit silhouettes. Each shot was a bid to freeze her essence, to make the moment eternal.
 
The sun sank below the horizon, and a quiet sadness settled over them. They dressed, gathered their things, and trudged back to the road. Night enveloped them, but the sea’s last glimmers lingered in their minds. A car stopped, and they returned to the city, slower now. Through the window, the day slipped away—yet something endured in their hearts. And in the photographs, of course. Sometimes, even technology holds a piece of the soul.
 

A chance encounter will take him far away, on a thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3

I write now (thinking of you)

I WRITE NOW (THINKING OF YOU)
 
Don’t ask me why,
I long to spend my life
tracing your words,
kindling light
within my mind.
 
A chance encounter will take him far away, on a thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3

Black and red

Miguel walks alone in the fading light of dusk, his steps heavy, faltering against the unyielding asphalt. The city’s towering buildings block the horizon, blurring into a haze through his faintly tearful eyes. A cold gust of wind brushes past, carrying fragments of distant noise—a jarring, fleeting melody from a passing car. Above, the night descends in a silent flutter, draping its shadow over his weary frame.
 
-oOo-
 
Isabel’s gaze held him, her eyes soft yet piercing, brimming with unspoken promises. Their hands inched closer across the worn café table, her fingers abandoning the cold condensation of her glass. Miguel’s hand trembled slightly, drawn to hers as if by instinct. Then, a fleeting touch—her hand, warm and alive, met his. Without a word, their fingers intertwined, gripping tighter, as if afraid the moment might dissolve. In that quiet clasp, the world beyond their hands ceased to exist.
 
-oOo-
 
Miguel trudges onward, his pace uneven, quickening whenever a stranger brushes past. He isn’t fleeing—not exactly. No one pursues him, yet his shadow clings relentlessly, a silent companion on this endless avenue. The city feels alien, its lights smudged and unfamiliar, as though he’s wandered into a dream that isn’t his. His chest tightens; exhaustion weighs on him, each step a battle against the infinite stretch of this unchanging road.
 
-oOo-
 
“Why are you alone?” Antonio’s voice cut through the din of the crowded bar, his hand extended in greeting.
“She couldn’t come,” Miguel replied, his voice flat, hollowed by something unspoken.
Antonio’s smile didn’t waver. “No worries, man. Maribel’s here.”
Miguel’s gaze drifted to her—Maribel, laughing softly in the corner, her presence a spark in the dim room. For a moment, he felt lighter, as if her warmth could thaw the ache he carried.
 
-oOo-
 
Miguel glances at his watch, the hands glowing faintly: 9:30 p.m. The sun, now a dying ember on the horizon, casts a frail red glow. He walks on, each step slower, as if the weight of time itself presses against him. The avenue stretches endlessly before him, a ribbon of asphalt leading nowhere.
 
-oOo-
 
“Does the light bother you?” Maribel’s whisper was soft, teasing, her breath warm against his ear.
“A little,” Miguel admitted, still unaware of the pull drawing him closer.
Without a word, she guided him to a shadowed corner of the bar, where couples melted into their own private worlds, oblivious to the chaos around them. The faint red glow of a neon sign barely reached them. In that dim refuge, words became unnecessary. A current, primal and unspoken, surged between them—her fingers tracing his jaw, his hands finding her waist. They surrendered to a dance of touches, a fleeting escape from the weight of their separate lives.
 
-oOo-
 
Miguel’s body trembles, a bone-deep cold seeping into his weary limbs. The avenue morphs into a narrow bridge, its fragile railing his only anchor. Below, a river of cars streaks by, their colors bleeding into the twilight. His heart rebels, urging him to leap, to end the torment gnawing at his soul. Yet his hands, driven by some primal instinct, cling to the railing with desperate strength. A war rages within him—surrender versus survival. At last, he releases his grip, stumbles back, and bolts across the bridge. His legs falter; he hesitates. A blinding flash—a car’s headlights—rushes toward him. Too late, he tries to dodge. A sickening thud, the screech of tires, and pain explodes through him. The car vanishes into the stream of traffic, leaving him sprawled on the asphalt, the world spinning into darkness.
 
-oOo-
 
Miguel stumbled home, the buzz of alcohol clouding his thoughts, his heart still alight from the night’s fleeting warmth. As he reached his door, a figure emerged from the shadows—Isabel. Her presence struck him like a blow.
“What are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice unsteady.
Her eyes locked onto his, a storm of emotions swirling within them—love, betrayal, accusation, all at once. No words came, only that piercing gaze. Understanding crashed over him like a wave. “It wasn’t me!” he cried, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it—you have to believe me!”
But Isabel said nothing. Her hands, once firm on his shoulders, slipped away, lifeless. She turned, her silhouette fading into the night, leaving him grasping at air, his pleas dissolving into silence.
 
-oOo-
 
Miguel lies crumpled on the pavement, his breaths shallow, ragged. Pain radiates through his body, sharp and unrelenting. He tries to rise, but his limbs betray him. His gaze falls to the asphalt, where a dark stain spreads—his blood, glistening under the streetlights. His trembling hand touches his forehead, fingers coming away slick with warmth. A shudder runs through him. With a final surge of will, he forces himself to his feet, swaying like a broken marionette. He presses a handkerchief to his brow; it comes away stained with crimson.
Staggering, Miguel retraces his steps down the endless avenue. Behind him, the small pool of blood fades into the asphalt, swallowed by the city’s indifference, like so many things lost to time.
 

A chance encounter will take him far away, on a thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3

¡Ya te lo traduce Google! Google translates it for you!

No sé por qué se me ocurrió un día traducir al inglés algunos de mis artículos e informaciones (de los que publico a diario en mi blog en español “Diario AZprensa”) y mostrarlos a través de un nuevo blog al que bauticé como “Worth Reading Magazine” (este mismo que ahora estás leyendo).
 
Sin embargo, poco después me he dado cuenta que esto es un trabajo estéril, porque Google y cualquier otro buscador o herramienta informática te lo traduce al instante al idioma que tú quieras, no sólo al inglés sino también a cualquier idioma que tú le indiques.
 
Por eso, este incipiente proyecto llamado “Worth Reading Magazine” toca su fin porque todo lo que escribo en el “Diario AZprensa” te lo puede traducir Google al inglés o al idioma que quieras, y además con bastante acierto.
 
De todas formas, no borraré nada de lo publicado aquí hasta ahora, pero dejo constancia de que es en el “Diario AZprensa” en donde sigo publicando todo lo que escribo y muchas de esas informaciones y artículos son dignas de ser leídas.
 
“Diario AZprensa”: https://azpressnews.blogspot.com
 

.oOo-

 
I don't know why it occurred to me one day to translate some of my articles and information (which I publish daily on my Spanish blog "Diario AZprensa") into English and show them through a new blog that I named "Worth Reading Magazine" (this very one you are reading now).
 
However, I soon realized that this is a futile endeavor, because Google and any other search engine or computer tool instantly translates it into any language you want, not just English but any language you specify.
 
Therefore, this fledgling project called “Worth Reading Magazine” is coming to an end, because everything I write in “Diario AZprensa” can be translated by Google into English or any other language you want, and quite accurately.
 
In any case, I won't delete anything I've published here so far, but I want to point out that I continue to publish everything I write in the "Diario AZprensa" (AZPrensa Newspaper), and much of this information and articles are worth reading.
 
“Diario AZprensa”: https://azpressnews.blogspot.com

Memories luggage

(Sunday Poetry Corner) On this Sunday, I want to share something as beautiful as memories... but in a unique way, through a poem I wrote not long ago, when we begin to see life through the rearview mirror: 

THE MEMORIES 

I will take (when I go)
the memories, nothing more,
just those. 

Here will remain the deeds,
the words, the objects,
and all of them will end up covered
by oblivion,
buried by the lives
of those who keep growing,
and the memory we leave in others
will linger for a while, then
dissolve like dust
in the desert. 

The world will keep turning
with the sounds of joys… and silences,
with wars and laughter,
triumphs and failures,
in a constant spiral of unforeseen
events. 

But I will already be gone,
absent for the good
and the bad.
I’ll be on the other side,
unable to communicate or share
my own breath,
yet I will remain alive,
eternally alive through
my memories. 

They will come with me,
faithful friends, companions
on an infinite journey
to other worlds,
to other lives,
to other heavens. 

While the English edition of this book is being prepared, both a printed and a digital edition are available in Spanish.

“Tu último viaje” (“Your final journey”): https://amzn.eu/d/1zzOpM6