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

Nas tramas invisíveis da memória, pulsa ainda o nome de Jovelina — mulher de fé incandescente e sabedoria sem diploma, mas com doutorado na escola dura da vida. Ela faria hoje 96 anos, e mesmo o tempo, com seus passos firmes, não apaga o eco da sua presença. Criada entre a simplicidade e o sagrado, ela carregava uma cruz invisível, feita não de madeira, mas de pobreza e descaso, moldada pelas mãos da luta diária. Cada ruga em seu rosto era uma linha escrita por Deus, cada gesto seu, uma oração viva. Católica fervorosa, rezava com o coração inteiro — … Continue reading Com carinho para Dona Jovelina

My feed is flooded with cries for help from friends in Gaza. “We are starving,” they write—not as a metaphor, but as a heartbreaking truth. There’s no food. People are collapsing on the streets from sheer exhaustion and hunger. One post shattered me: a father saying he felt relieved his young daughter had been martyred last year—because at least she was spared the slow agony of starvation. I can’t stop thinking about that. This is not just a humanitarian emergency. It’s a profound moral failure of the global community. Starvation is being used as a weapon, and somehow, the world … Continue reading Gaza

By Beatriz Esmer There are two discoveries that have stayed with me — not like lessons learned in school, but more like truths whispered late at night, when the world is quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat. The first came nestled in someone else’s chest. It was the sound of life outside my own, pulsing beside me, like putting a shell to your ear and hearing the sea. Not a recording, not a metaphor — the actual ocean. A roar that didn’t ask for attention, only reminded me it was there. Shared presence. Human closeness. A rhythm not mine, … Continue reading Nakedness

Death has no scheduled hour, nor does it bow before illustrious surnames or generous bank accounts. It arrives without asking, crosses doors never opened for anyone, and takes a seat at the table uninvited. Death is democratic, cruelly fair—and perhaps that’s why it disturbs us so deeply. Yesterday, reading about Preta Gil’s passing, I felt that familiar knot in my throat. It wasn’t just sadness for the artist, for the woman who faced cancer with courage and transparency. It was the discomfort of realizing, once again, that life is a fleeting breath—and that even in the face of this truth, … Continue reading Chronicle: Death Has No Favorites