Japanese Garden – Cherry Blossom !!! PHOTO SHOOT + Short Story

Japanese Garden – Cherry Blossom !!! PHOTO SHOOT + Short Story

Japanese Garden

Cherry Blossom

Is winter in Buenos Aires – Argentina and the Cherry Blossom is here, giving to the Japanese Park pink textures and beautiful memories to the tourist that have the fortune to come in this dates.

Me @jokossita with my brother @cire


In Palermo, there are a little place where each year you can see the Sakura’s bloom and it’s amazing not only for the natural show but also for all the Japanese Cultures and Japanese events that the Park offer in this month including the Day of the Friendship of this two countries: Argentina and Japan. The Cherry Blossom means the beginning of the spring in this hemisphere, can’t wait to see the Jacaranda’s to bloom. 


Short Story

The beautiful Sakura Flower is a symbol of fugacity, they born one night live a few days and they die. They have a beauty that they can’t kept. 


-What you think when you hear the phrase “I love you” – She asked him.

-This will maybe sound Cliche but you are beautiful, amazing. You are unique. I think in you… – He answered, looking at her like she was a master piece and could appreciate her but don’t get her. 

-I think in food, the beach… Travel. 

-Really? – Said him, broken. 

-I think in the simple of the things that make us happy, in the family. I think it’s absurd that you just though in me, I love who I am and all of me but how I can open myself in a way that someone else can see who I really am so he can tell me that he loves me? 


She panicked, no one had ever loved her truly and sincerely. 

-I love how you can be so deep and reasonable, but your question wasn’t “What you love?” it was “What you think when you hear the phrase “I love you” ? and that what I just told you, I love you. What you though? 

-I though if it was real, I don’t know what I’m thinking right now. 

That night they were beside the lake, the fireplace was almost dying. There was a clear sky full of stars and If the moon wasn’t be absent she could had been the witness of a love story where they both knew that they were just two Sakura flowers. 





 This Story is totally fiction, created by my imagination and is ORIGINAL please don’t copy it or use it with out my consent. 

If you have any recommendation or comment I would love to read you.

All the photographs are mine taken with Iphone 6s








The pink house – Legends of Buenos Aires

The pink house – Legends of Buenos Aires




And for the hall she walks, and she moves around like a noxious cloud by the house infecting all the people that visits. Each night she choose and with her accomplice Nicolas Avellaneda she laugh of the passenger happiness of the ones who govern, fishing incautious I realized that she was, is and will be the gorgeous ghost with whom I have come across. I will tell this legend from a perspective that my feelings won’t change the story and even if it happen it won’t be prove of it. I tell this legend with a small smile on my face that reaches the Machiavellian and maybe if you stop to think the madness.

She lived in a Pink House, the beautiful from all the town. Married with a famous politician loved by the people and of course with a lot of money, she lived a fairy tale to the eyes of the others. Every night she opened the window of her principal room and she watched from her insignificance a giant star so different from the others, this one don’t make wishes came true. When she walked outside to the yard inside the house she realized that the palms were witnesses of the cruel murder of her husband.

Murdered The Untouchable 

Tittle in every Newspaper of Buenos Aires 



Surrounded by grenadiers well dressed, the walls and the marmol stairs, beautiful carpets and expensive mosaics and golden stuff her life pass by without sense of that tragic success.


The doors of the house were taller than her self steam, nobody observed her like before, she was different. She asked for help, but the one and only who listen to her was me.


And a golden mirror reminds her how beautiful and evil she is, sadness made cold porcelain. One more ornament for the house. She cried every night in front  of it trying to find herself in that face.


The house knows, the walls whispered and the portraits warn you, a place with so many story screams the trajectory. I was the only one who knew that she was the murder. 


But the truth is that nobody in the modern age knows how to read lost languages.


A golden saloon in her honor that reminds how much her husband loved her and she didn’t. She suicide weeks later making another mark in the house and my heart; she still goes around with her toxic beauty inspiring love to incautious like me, to murder for the eternity men like the husband.

Actually the Pink House is the Presidency Home of the Argentina Nation. All the photographs and translation are mine, the story is totally invented originally in spanish.

Puedes leer esta publicación en español en mis publicaciones anteriores


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