Why should I hide? There is a profound, quiet gravity in being completely naked with another person, a moment where the world falls away and only the raw, warming pulse of skin remains. It is in this desexualized state that conversation finally sheds its armor. When clothes are merely a heap on the floor, words become purer, stripped of the pretenses we wear like uniforms. To me, skin is the most exquisite thing in existence. The shortest distance to another person’s heart isn’t a grand gesture; it is the slow, deliberate intimacy of being loved inch by inch, centimeter by … Continue reading Why? 

I look at the wall until the wall looks back, and I wonder: who is the “I” that speaks? I ask, almost in a whisper to the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun, that the light of humility might finally arrive. Not as a grand sun, but as a small, persistent candle placed deep within the cavern of my chest. I am afraid, you see. I am afraid of the mirrors I build for myself. May this light shine until it stings, so that arrogance, that thick, heavy silk, does not wrap itself around my eyes. Arrogance is a … Continue reading The Luminous Silence

As I sit here, contemplating the words on the page in front of me, I am struck by the realization of my own fragility. Like an un-agreeable mark of ink on a page, I resist my own depth and darkness. I am reminded that I am not invincible, that I am susceptible to the trials and tribulations of life. Just as the ink on the page can smudge and fade, so too can I be affected by the challenges that come my way. But in this fragility, I find a sense of humility and understanding. I am not perfect, and … Continue reading Fragility

And now, I love the volumes of my life. Not the stories, stories are for those who fear the void, but the physical mass of existing, the heavy, sweet density of being here. I am no longer afraid of the space I occupy. I listen. There is the adagio of my heart’s beating, a slow, rhythmic pulse that does not ask for permission to continue. It is a thick silence punctuated by blood. And then, the outside: the metronome of the rainfall, ticking away the seconds of a time that doesn’t exist, yet washes everything clean of its yesterday. How … Continue reading The Weight of Being

I am moved when I remember the poem by Vinícius “O Haver (Having)”. It is a twilight poem. It gazes at the reddened horizon, turns back and takes inventory of what’s left. I felt like doing something similar, knowing that I’m not Vinicius, I’m not a poet, I know nothing about meter and rhymes. And I would start each paragraph with the same word he started his stanzas with: It remains… What remains is the twilight light, that lacerating mixture of beauty and sadness. Before it begins at the end of the day the twilight begins on us. The boy … Continue reading Vinicius

Rest, weary soul, and let the weight of the world slip from your shoulders. Breathe in the stillness and exhale the burdens that have been holding you captive. It’s okay to admit that happiness feels elusive, like a butterfly that flutters just out of reach. But in the quiet moments, when the chaos of the world fades into the background, remember that you have the power to give happiness to others. It’s not about having a surplus of joy to dole out like candy. It’s about offering a listening ear, a comforting embrace, a kind word. It’s about being present … Continue reading Rest

Let me dwell in the crevices where giants pause to breathe—the hushed margins between symphonies of thought,where light slips through the cracks of grand designslike dust motes dancing in cathedral beams.Here, in the close-knit shadows, I’ll carve a chapel of my own:walls papered with half-formed whispers,floors woven from the sinew of ‘almost’,and a ceiling low enough to touch the pulse of genesis. Teach me to cup my hands around the ember before it blazes—to trace the silhouette of passion as it stirs in its cradle,a newborn star still learning its own heat.Let me kneel where creativity hums in its larval … Continue reading Let me …

A ascensão de Bad Bunny ao palco do Super Bowl representa muito mais do que um marco na indústria do entretenimento; é um divisor de águas sociopolítico. Em um dos espaços de maior visibilidade da cultura norte-americana, a presença do artista porto-riquenho é um lembrete pulsante de que os Estados Unidos são, também, um país latino. No entanto, o brilho dessa conquista frequentemente esbarra na sombra persistente da xenofobia. É comum observarmos, em redes sociais e fóruns, comentários que tentam deslegitimar a importância de Benito, rotulando sua música como “estrangeira” ou criticando o fato de ele não se render ao … Continue reading Bad Bunny e o Direito de Pertencer

Every so often, a vertical hunger stops the clock. It is not a hunger of the stomach, but a thirst that tastes like iron and ancient salt. My internal sea, that vast, liquid uncertainty where I usually drown and breathe all at once, suddenly retreats. It leaves behind a naked floor of sand, rib-cracked and shivering in the light. I wander through this landscape of myself. It is a geometry of drought. The climate is not an external weather, but an arid state of being where the winds are scorching whispers, reminding me of all the voids I’ve carefully tried … Continue reading My Sea