[The stage is bathed in soft amber light. A solitary figure sits on stone steps center stage, dressed in a white dress with a small neck scarf. Autumn leaves drift lazily around her. She holds a journal and a pen, speaking as if to someone not there — or perhaps deeply present.] I write to you from the steps of public spaces… from the quiet corners of my heart. It is a brilliant autumn’s day. My dress is white — foolishly bright against the golden trees — and my scarf, the one you always said made me look like a … Continue reading Monologue: Writing to you

It was night when she departed, her suitcase light and her heart restless. The sky, speckled with shy stars, seemed to whisper silent promises. “It’s just a short trip,” she repeated, as if comforting herself with an invisible embrace. And so she went. The days passed like pages turned by a gentle breeze. Each sunrise tasted of discovery, and each dusk carried the scent of longing. But there was beauty in impermanence: the certainty that everything that begins must someday end. The road wasn’t eternal, just necessary. When she returned, she realized she was no longer the same. The journey … Continue reading The Crossing

Nas tramas do cotidiano, entre o barulho da cidade e o silêncio da madrugada, há uma mulher que caminha com o verbo vivo na Alma. Cada gesto, cada olhar, é uma oração sem palavras, feita de sorrisos e lágrimas, de chegadas que aquecem e partidas que ensinam. A vida a enfeita – não com ornamentos visíveis, mas com memórias que pulsam entre noites e dias que a contam inteira. Ela escuta, sempre atenta, a voz de dentro: essa que não grita, mas revela. Diz, em sua sabedoria mansa, que amar se aprende amando. E é nessa escuta que ela se … Continue reading Crônica:Voz de Dentro

From the steps of public spaces, my heart spills ink onto the page. It’s a brilliant autumn day. I’m wrapped in a white dress, a small neck scarf fluttering like a secret. Children blow bubbles, capturing sunlight in iridescent orbs. Rainbows glide across their fragile surfaces, and suddenly, I am a child again—innocence reborn. I close my eyes, surrendering to the symphony of the world. The light becomes dark pink, reminiscent of strawberry candy. The sun’s warmth still kisses my eyelids. Coins clatter under hurried footsteps, and buses wheeze, their exhaust blending with the steady beep-beep of traffic signals. Laughter—pure … Continue reading Autumn’s Echo: Letters Written with Closed Eyes

Dark stage. A soft spotlight fades in, revealing a woman standing at center stage. She holds a photograph in her hands. Warm lighting. Profound silence. She speaks to the audience, but at times, it feels like she’s speaking to herself. Woman (gentle, yet firm voice):She looks at the photo, as if searching for an answer within it. Parents are brief.Mother and father… they’re brief because they don’t linger.(looks upward, as if invoking them)No matter how much time we have — they never truly linger. She steps forward twice. The light follows.They’re like mirrors that barely reflect us —never long enough … Continue reading Monologue: “Parents are brief”

You keep calling yourself a haunted house—ghosts in your body, cemeteries in the yard and the bedroom. You tell me to listen to those who say I should run, to not ring your doorbell on a dare. But I’m not here to prove I’m brave, or to take a peek at the haunting. I’m not curious, I’m not here for the ride—I’m here because I want to be. When I ask about your bad days, it’s not a dare. I genuinely want to know, even if I’ll never fully understand what it’s like to walk in your shoes. I just … Continue reading I will be with you

On nights when sadness arrives, I hope you welcome it like an old friend. Bring it to your table and speak with it about your doubts and misfortunes. Feed it with your energy — for even sadness is sustenance — and let it rest in contentment, long after it has been satisfied. After all, true meals should never be rushed. That’s when you can reflect on the “what ifs,” the “almosts,” the “why nots,” and the “hows” that haunt it. And that’s when sadness will also remember you. Because when you recognize its place in your life, you’ll understand that … Continue reading Silent visit

I am a book bound not in leather or linen, but in blackness—dense and deliberate. My cover bears the weight of scars, etched like ancient hieroglyphs, each one hiding a story I pray no one ever tries to translate. I am mystery incarnate, pages sealed shut with fear and fortitude. It’s easier if they judge me by my cover. Let the world glance and turn away. Let them assume I am unreadable. Because if they were to pry, if they were to peer between the lines and unlock the spine, they would see what I spend every moment protecting: a … Continue reading Bound in Shadows

I am an excitable person. Life, to me, is a symphony—a crescendo of emotions, a dance of stardust. I don’t merely exist; I sing existence. My heartstrings resonate with the poetry of moments, and reason? Well, reason tiptoes behind, trying to keep up.Facts and intuition—they waltz within me. I am gifted at both, but I refuse to let them cage my spirit. Possibilities stretch before me like an infinite canvas, and I wield my brush with audacity. Limits? They dissolve like sugar in warm tea. I am a wanderer of wonder, a seeker of the marvelous.Reality? It knocks politely, but … Continue reading Manifesto

…but after all, you see, I am not an abandoned house. I am not, in the end, haunted and vacant.My stairs creak, and my windows stick, and the walls groan on windy nights, but I am not haunted. In my humanity, there is beauty.I have lived, vividly. I have loved, generously. I have cured love with love, and I have been reckless, passionate, brilliant, and ebullient.I am covered in fingerprints: some hands left bruises, and others I wish would hold me forever. I have been touched, and I have been transformed.I have scars, not mortal wounds. I have scars, and … Continue reading A House Built of Living Light