Il y a des silences qui pèsent plus lourd que les mots, des présences si délicates qu’on les oublie presque, absorbés par le tumulte des jours. Et puis, un soir, on s’arrête. On regarde en arrière, dans l’intimité de cette pièce déserte où résonne encore l’écho de ce que nous avons été. Et ce fut dans ce silence que je me suis émerveillée. Non pas de quelqu’un, ni d’un grand événement. Je me suis émerveillée d’être là. D’être. De m’apercevoir qu’il y a une beauté qui ne se révèle que lorsque l’on cesse de chercher. Une beauté qui habite l’intervalle … Continue reading Prends soin des cœurs qui t’ont été confiés. Une fois perdus, ils peuvent t’échapper pour toujours…

The skin is not a wall. Oh, how we have lied to ourselves, inventing armor out of our own surface, believing this thin boundary could ever truly protect us from the unbearable weight of existence. We walk around like closed doors, forgetting we are made of porous things. Your skin doesn’t separate you from the world; it’s a bridge through which the external world flows into you, and you flow into it… Think of the air—that invisible, heavy ocean we drown in softly every second. It touches you, it enters you, it becomes your blood, and then it leaves you, … Continue reading The Porous Boundary

Si l’on s’arrête un instant, au milieu du bruit affairé des jours, l’on réalise peut-être que l’amour ne réside pas dans les grands éclats ou dans les promesses définitives que nous faisons au bord du gouffre. Il se cache dans les petits détails du quotidien, dans les silences partagés sans hâte, dans le café qui refroidit tandis que les mains se rencontrent distraitement sur la table. Il y a ceux qui attendent toute leur vie une illumination extraordinaire, sans savoir que la véritable intensité pulse dans les intervalles. C’est dans la part fragile d’un regard qui se croise dans la … Continue reading Langage de l’amour

Uma data solta no tempo, sem contornos precisos, mas carregada de um peso íntimo. Esta noite, o chamado é para voltarmos a nós mesmos, a essa essência pura que um dia habitou em nós, intocada pelas marcas do mundo e dos outros. Pensemos na infância, ou naquele estado de sonho onde o tempo se dissolve. Éramos leves, livres das exigências alheias. Sabíamos que o bem-estar alimentava a alma, que a alegria fazia a vida valer a pena. Não havia o veneno do merecimento, nem a culpa, nem a dúvida. Havia apenas a paz. Uma criança nasce buscando o aconchego, o … Continue reading Final de Augusto de 2012

A beleza do “aqui” não se encerra na geografia fria dos mapas; é uma pulsação morna, um segredo que a gente guarda no avesso do peito. “Aqui” é uma melodia antiga de pertencimento, um sopro leve de mãos dadas, de correntes invisíveis que unem duas almas. Pertencer não é prender; é ser olhado por alguém que nos vê na nossa inteireza mais frágil e mais bonita, e que, ainda assim, nos deixa livres. Nos vazios férteis do tempo, o “aqui” vai se metamorfoseando. Às vezes é uma pessoa, um refúgio de pele e respiração, um lugar onde a alma descansa, … Continue reading A Poética do Aqui

The active principle of love is generosity. It is the gentle force that opens hearts, making others feel welcomed, understood, and accepted. In this embrace, love becomes a living entity, thriving in the warmth of shared moments and mutual understanding. Everything that does not reach the other does not exist. It is as if it never breathed, never felt the touch of life. The unspoken words, the unshared feelings, they linger in the shadows, resembling a small death. They are the echoes of what could have been, the silent witnesses to missed connections. Every sensation or feeling that cannot breathe, … Continue reading Force…

Quando foi que a pele dos nossos corpos, a diferença na nossa voz ou a direção que o nosso coração toma decidiram se devemos ou não ter direitos humanos? E foi nesse silêncio que me encantei. Não por alguém, nem por um grande acontecimento. Me encantei por estar. Por ser. Por perceber que há uma beleza que só se revela quando a gente para de procurar. Uma beleza que mora no intervalo entre um suspiro e outro. Mas o mundo insiste em fazer barulho onde deveria haver acolhimento. Quantas vezes o olhar do outro tenta nos medir, rotular, encaixotar? Como … Continue reading Livres

When it is but it is not love, it masquerades as passion, a fervent flame that consumes rather than warms. Some of us love badly, or perhaps we mistake the intensity for love. This love implodes, folding in on itself, devouring its essence. It turns the sweetest wine into the bitterest poison, misbehaving in the sanctity of shared spaces. It drinks deeply from the well of insecurity, kisses strangers with lips that should be faithful, and returns to your bed at ungodly hours, reeking of the world outside. This love asks about your past, not out of curiosity, but jealousy. … Continue reading August 28, 2014

When longing no longer found solace in waiting, farewell whispered its silent departure. My body, once a vessel of vibrant life, now stood empty, a hollow shell devoid of its Soul. In this void, I poured my loneliness into words, each syllable a fragment of my solitude. I became an urgent poet, driven by the pain that time had bestowed upon me. Every moment of suffering transformed into verses, each line a testament to the ache that had become my constant companion. Through this pain, I found my voice, a voice that spoke of longing, loss, and the relentless passage … Continue reading A Poet’s Journey

Some days, she dons the armor of a warrior, her spirit fierce and unyielding. She faces the battles of life with a strength that seems unbreakable, her eyes burning with determination. On these days, she is a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of resilience and courage. Yet, there are days when the weight of the world bears down on her, and she feels like a broken mess. Her heart aches with the scars of past wounds, and her spirit falters. Tears may fall, and doubts may creep in, but even in these moments of vulnerability, there is a … Continue reading The Warrior Within