Na padaria da esquina, Seu Alfredo abre as portas às seis em ponto. Não porque o relógio manda, mas porque o cheiro do pão quente é sua forma de dizer “bom dia” ao mundo. Ele tem 78 anos e uma saúde que desafia estatísticas. Quando perguntam se tem planos para o futuro, ele ri com os olhos e responde: “Meu plano é não deixar o pão queimar.” Vivemos como se o amanhã fosse um contrato assinado em cartório. Planejamos viagens, aposentadorias, reformas na cozinha. Guardamos garrafas de vinho para ocasiões especiais que nunca chegam. E enquanto isso, o hoje escorre … Continue reading O Dono do Amanhã

In our small house, where the walls still lean in to listen, I speak to the cupboards as if they might answer. I tell them I needed a bit more from you—more warmth in the silences, more staying in the leaving. You and me, we were sliced clean by the sound of feet brushing off the last porch step. That sound—sharp and final—hissed through the air like blackbird calls caught in rusted wire, like wounded iron groaning under its own weight. It was the kind of sound that gas leaks make when no one’s watching. Almost no signs. Almost. Didn’t … Continue reading Home

We have confined the divine to the hallowed halls of churches, to the extraordinary acts of healing, to the miraculous and the marvelous. We strive fervently to summon celestial fire in our worship, yearning for a tangible sign of the sacred. Yet, in our earnest pursuit, we often overlook the gentle whispers of grace that surround us daily. God’s favor is not solely in the grandiose displays of power but in the tender moments that touch our souls. It is in the warmth of the sun that kisses our cheeks, a reminder of the light that guides us. It is … Continue reading The Divine in Everyday Moments

He walked with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, each step a gentle glide as if he were floating just above the ground. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and every so often, he would pause to take in his surroundings with a serene gaze. It was as if he existed in a bubble of tranquility, a world of his own making, untouched by the chaos around him. When I finally mustered the courage to approach him, I was met with a kindness that felt both profound and effortless. His eyes held a depth of understanding, and his smile was warm, … Continue reading The Serene Gardener

“Bukowski”He quoted Bukowski knowingly to a blonde girl who thought he was reciting lyrics from a love song. It irked me—if not outright pissed me off—to hear him speak with such honesty and belief in every word, only for her to receive it so vacuously. I gazed at the back of the couple seated two rows ahead of me on the bus. I saw the bearer of the honey-rum voice. I watched him pinch the girl’s nose playfully and recite more lyrical “love spells” from great writers. She just stared blankly and laughed at his attempts to impress. Yet from … Continue reading Year: 1987

Flesh of your flesh—let it be a sacrament.I shall take you whole, to devour in place of your spirit,which I so long to reach.Let it be your lips that quiver,in syncopation with your heart.Let your heart pulse with the longing of your soul. Let us be full—and empty—with the fast of our bodies upon our lips.We shall be a cycle of desire and satiation.And when we have been torn to pieces,we will, at last, be free to be whole. ❤️ Continue reading Whole

It’s the aroma of a cherished dish, evoking memories of family gatherings and laughter echoing through time. It’s the serene comfort of reuniting with old friends, where words flow effortlessly and silence speaks volumes. It’s the beloved garment that no longer fits, yet holds the essence of who we once were. The melody of a favorite song, the poignant lyrics that resonate with our soul, and the lingering scent of a partner’s cologne, all transport us to moments frozen in time. The gentle glide of a pen on a napkin, the soft, cushioned feel beneath our fingers, grounding us in … Continue reading Nostalgia

There was a time when mirrors held more weight than memories. When the shine of new shoes or the glint of a phone screen felt like proof of progress. In those days, the world whispered that value came wrapped in packaging—beauty, possessions, status. And many believed it. I did too. But time, with its gentle erosion and quiet revelations, has a way of peeling back illusions. As you get older, you will understand more and more that it’s not about what you look like or what you own. It’s all about the person you’ve become. Not the curated version. Not … Continue reading The Becoming: A Chronicle of Quiet Truths