She wasn’t born under a poetic star, nor did she wear her heart like a fragile glass slipper. No, Helena walked through life with steady feet and quiet wonder, chasing not fantasy but a truth so immense it could tilt the heavens.

“I suppose I always wanted what Dante Alighieri spoke of,” she once confessed—not with longing, but with clarity. “L’amore che muove il sole e l’altre stelle.” The love that moves the sun and the other stars. Not the kind found in gilded novels or sung beneath balconies, but something ancient. Something cosmic. Something strong enough to tremble the very fabric of time.

She wasn’t a hopeless romantic, nor did she drown in idealism. Her craving wasn’t for roses or handwritten letters, but for gravity. For meaning. For the sort of love that anchored galaxies and made light bend. She wished for the pulse that beats at the center of everything—for a love not made of mere moments, but of motion itself.

And though she never claimed it loudly, the stars whispered her name on quiet nights, knowing that somewhere in the rhythm of the universe, she belonged to that boundless longing—the kind that makes stars burn, makes hearts brave, and teaches even silence how to sing.❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer