Claude Durand

‚Love‘ (inspired by Gojira) It starts quietly, deceptively so, like the calm before a storm that will tear through everything in its path. Two figures stand facing each other, motionless yet vibrating with unspoken energy. Every breath feels heavy, loaded with something neither can name, something older and wilder than themselves. Love here is not gentle. It is not soft or polite. It is a force that crashes in, breaks, burns, and lingers in the chest like a heartbeat caught in a storm. Every glance is electric, a pull that tugs at nerves and bones alike. Every brush of fingers sends sparks that seem to echo through the air, through the world around them. Pain and longing weave together indistinguishably, a symphony of desire that hurts because it is too real, too intense. Their hearts beat like drums in the silence, and in that rhythm is an almost unbearable clarity: they are drawn to each other with a force they cannot resist, a gravity neither can name, and yet both are afraid of surrendering completely. Time fractures around them. Seconds stretch, expand, and shatter all at once. The world outside, the trivial, the mundane, all dissolves into the background. There is only this—the raw, unrelenting pull, the mixture of fear and awe, destruction and healing, all compressed into a single, inescapable energy. And then, almost imperceptibly, the edges of restraint blur. The line between pain and pleasure, fear and desire, love and something far more primal, grows thinner with each heartbeat. There is no safety here. There is only intensity, a storm that demands they surrender or be torn apart. And in that surrender, in that chaotic, beautiful giving over, they find something astonishing: a fierce, uncontainable truth, a love that is as wild and consuming as fire itself. (36, 6‘4, image from Pinterest)