Por Beatriz Esmer Outro dia parei diante de um canteiro e me peguei pensando nas flores que escolhemos permitir crescer dentro da gente. Elas chegam com o encantamento da primavera — promessas doces, sorrisos semeados em tardes de sol, gestos que parecem eternos. Mas será que quem as planta está disposto a enfrentar os invernos conosco? É fácil admirar pétalas abertas sob o calor do afeto. Difícil mesmo é permanecer quando o frio endurece os sentimentos e o vento da rotina começa a soprar com força. As raízes, nessas horas, revelam se realmente se entrelaçaram com as nossas ou se … Continue reading O Jardim das Promessas

In her tireless quest for self-sufficiency, she built a fortress around her heart, laying each brick with care. Every stone symbolized a lesson learned in solitude—a healed scar, a shed tear, a moment of vulnerability sealed away. She believed impenetrability equaled strength, that needing no one meant being invincible. Yet the very wall meant to protect her became a barrier to connection, wounding those who reached out in love. Friends grew bruised against her silence, retreating hurt. In the echoes of their absence, she recognized the pain she had caused. True strength, she realized, lay not in isolation but in … Continue reading Walls

They told me to write my heart out —as if bleeding onto paper could reveal what lies buried beneath the noise.So I did. I sliced it open with verbs and vowels, let it hemorrhage on the page.Not for the sake of healing,but for the sake of knowing. And in that mess of ink and memories,two truths surfaced, raw and untamed:One —that no matter how I sculpt a sentence,your name lingers in the clay. And two —that this heart, though cavernous and echoing in its emptiness,is paradoxically bursting at the seams…with you You, in the margins.You, in the rhythm of every … Continue reading A Heart That Writes Itself

To tell of enchantment, I need tears.Tears that thaw the silence in my heart,that bring to light the emotions hiddenin the depths of my soul.Words — those silent companions —spy on me as I open the boxes of my colors,slowly revealing the scent of my nostalgia.When the dance of my imagination unfolds,words flow within me like a calm river.They find life in the music I hear,where each note joins in a symphony of harmony and peace.It is in this moment that words, like old friends,embrace me tenderly.They pass through my heart,transforming into verses of an almost-poem,a reflection of my essence. … Continue reading Enchantment

A felicidade, essa obra-prima delicada e efêmera, é entrelaçada por momentos preciosos e sutis. Cada sorriso, cada gesto de carinho, cada instante de paz contribui para sua construção. No entanto, como uma pintura meticulosa, qualquer imperfeição pode comprometer sua beleza. O menor erro — uma palavra mal colocada — pode falsear a pureza desse sentimento. Uma hesitação, por mais breve que seja, pode romper a harmonia que sustenta a felicidade. A grosseria, mesmo involuntária, desfigura a suavidade das emoções, enquanto o absurdo, com sua irracionalidade, degrada a essência do que é genuíno e verdadeiro. Assim, a felicidade exige de nós … Continue reading A Felicidade

The silence was shattered by the piercing cries of bullets, slicing through the delicate veil of night and dew. The symphony of war—stripped of beauty, devoid of romance—echoed with the heavy footsteps of death’s relentless march. It moved without mercy, claiming both the guilty and the innocent, a force blind to virtue or sin. War’s apologists spoke of the fog of conflict, but we knew it as the scorching breath of a monstrous hunger, devouring everything in its path. Some were spit out. Many were swallowed—into grim depths from which no light returned. As the mechanical chorus of battle took … Continue reading The Abyss of War

I died yesterday. Not in the way that turns breath to dust—but in the quiet undoing of all I once thought I was. The curtain fell on a version of me that had memorized her lines too rigidly, stumbled through scenes that no longer moved her, and bowed to an audience she didn’t choose. That life, stitched together by habit and fear, finally exhaled its last sigh. And yet, I feel the hum of tomorrow already rising within me. A soft rustle in the wings. I will be reborn—not as someone new, but as someone true. The spotlight warms a … Continue reading Chronicle: A Dress Rehearsal of Souls

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 … Continue reading Chronicle: The Orbit of Helena

And if I loved you one day, it might begin quietly—like a whisper born in the wind that forgot its way. A love small and calm, tiny and light, tiptoeing through the alleys where shadows play, losing itself in the gentle bend of a river that doesn’t mind the detour. It would stretch out, spill freely into the sea, asking nothing, demanding less, just moving—just being. In such a love, would your fingers know to find my hair, tangled in the breeze? Could your hands trace the mystery beneath a dress, not with possession but with awe? Would your voice, … Continue reading Chronicle: If I Loved You One Day

Sir, have I invited you in?No lantern lit, no welcome whispered—yet there you were, gliding effortlessly into my bloodstream, an interloper cloaked in longing. My breath betrayed me, drunk on the perfume of your intentions, tasting the edges of danger with every inhalation. It wasn’t permission. It was surrender. I never cracked open my chest. It broke on its own.No scalpel, no consent—just the brutal revelation of every ache I’d buried. My bones whispered secrets you hadn’t earned, yet you listened with that wicked smile, the one that grazed my threshold like flame to parchment. Did I invite you in, … Continue reading The Inhalation