In the dim light of a bohemian café, she leaned across the table, holding a glass filled with a golden liquid that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Her eyes shimmered as if they carried forgotten constellations, and her voice was a low, mesmerizing melody. “Before you take a sip,” she said softly, “you should know: drinking my dreams isn’t just about getting lost. It’s about being consumed by intoxicating orgies of wild poetry and a love so deep it defies even the gods.” He hesitated. The world around them seemed to go silent, as if time … Continue reading Getting Lost

Love takes on many forms. Possessive love whispers, “I will only love you and care about you if you’re mine.” It clings tightly, fearing loss, and binds itself to the notion of ownership. It is a love that seeks to possess, to hold, to claim as its own. But true love, ah, true love sings a different melody. It says, “I will always love you, from this lifetime to every lifetime after, regardless of who you’re with or what you’ve done. I will never stop caring about you.” It is a love that transcends time and space, a love that … Continue reading The Duality of Love

People say that when someone leaves, they take a piece of us. They take fragments of our soul, like pieces of a puzzle, leaving us incomplete. Sometimes, the remaining picture retains its beauty, a testament to the resilience of our spirit. But other times, the missing piece casts a shadow over the entire image, marring its perfection. What if the piece they took was not just any piece, but a cornerstone of our existence? What if it was the very essence of our being, the heartbeat that kept us alive? In their absence, we find ourselves adrift, struggling to navigate … Continue reading The missing Piece

I lost it again—the moment I meant to capture. It slipped through my fingers just as I reached for it. I tried to focus, but my eyes were closed. In the blink of an eye, like a whisper, everything shifted. The light changed, someone sneezed, the earth rotated a fraction—and then, just like that, it was gone. I thought I could write about it, wrap it in language and keep it somehow. But none of the words I knew came close to describing how it looked, how it felt, how it smelled, tasted. I tried to invent new ones, but … Continue reading I Lost it Again

Talvez o amor se construa nas entrelinhas do cotidiano, nas pequenas coisas que, em nossa pressa, deixamos de valorizar. É nas simplicidades que ele se revela, como um segredo sussurrado pelo vento. Tudo bem, mesmo sem compreendê-lo completamente, a beleza sempre encontra um jeito de se manifestar. Ela surge nos momentos mais inesperados, como um raio de sol que atravessa as nuvens após a tempestade. Por isso, o amor brilha intensamente nas palavras não ditas, no silêncio compartilhado, no calor de um abraço e na doce melancolia da saudade. Ele está presente em cada gesto, em cada olhar, em cada … Continue reading Talvez

I want to live in a house made of poetry. Each wall, each corner, each crevice would be a stanza, a verse, a line that sings to my soul. In the night, I would sleep under blankets sewn from poetry, feeling the gentle caress of words as they lull me into dreams woven from the finest metaphors and similes. My dreams would be a tapestry of poetic imagery, a dance of rhythm and rhyme. In the morning, I would bathe myself in poetry. The words would flow over me, cleansing my spirit and invigorating my mind. Poetry would seep into … Continue reading July 2024 – Living in a House of Poetry II

There is, and perhaps will always be, a border no bridge can cross — an unspoken line between who we are and what we wear: the skin that carries our stories, the shades that whisper history. Your cream glows quiet in the early hours, a softness painted by gentle suns. My brownness, in contrast, is steeped in heat — the kind passed down through fire, through generations who danced in resistance and rested in thunder. You do not burn the way I do. You do not carry the echo of battle in your pores. We lie tangled, breast over breast, … Continue reading The Space Between Skins

In the hush of midnight, I imagine the advice my mother never gave—less about routines and more about soul-fire. Maybe she’d have murmured, “Baby, never apologize for loving too harsh.” Because love isn’t meant to tiptoe—it should rage like a wildfire, erasing past verses and penning new ones in ink made of longing and thunder. Every kiss, every promise, a fierce declaration that you lived, burned, and began again. She might’ve taught me that craving more of life is no sin. “You owe it to yourself,” she’d say, “to chase dawn, dance in storms, and sip the ocean on your … Continue reading Advices

Se algum dia minha história for contada, diga que caminhei entre as estrelas. Que meus passos, embora terrenos, sempre buscaram o brilho do infinito. Que meus sonhos, vastos e luminosos, se entrelaçaram com a poeira cósmica, criando constelações de esperança e coragem. Diga que, mesmo nas noites mais escuras, eu olhei para o céu e encontrei força nas estrelas cintilantes. Que cada desafio enfrentado foi uma estrela cadente, um desejo realizado, uma prova de que a luz sempre prevalece sobre a escuridão. Que minha jornada foi guiada pela luz das estrelas, e que, em cada momento de dúvida, eu encontrei … Continue reading Se um dia …

I’ve come to realize that I haven’t always been gentle around other people’s vulnerable wounds. My big ugly tail, the one I drag behind me, is my tendency to get self-righteous. When I see someone else’s big ugly tail, I make myself “superior,” casting myself as “right” and others as “wrong.” My ego, whom I’ve named Morgana Bells—the indomitable and often bitchy—convinces me that I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around someone else’s stinky wound. Yet, I’m learning that sometimes walking on eggshells around someone’s raw wound is the perfect opportunity to practice compassion and to demonstrate love. It’s a delicate … Continue reading My Big Ugly Tail