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Today, my little girl becomes a teenager. 13. A number that somehow holds more weight than all the others before it... because with it comes strength, growth, beauty and the beginning of becoming who you truly are. My love, we’ve danced through life in a way that no one else can quite understand. Through the hardest storms, we’ve held hands, tightly, sometimes silently but always together. Even when everything around us felt heavy or uncertain, we found a way to laugh, to smi

For a long time, I equated being busy with being successful. The constant motion, the noise, the full schedule… it gave me the illusion that I was in control, that I was doing life “right.” But somewhere along the way, in the still moments I used to avoid, I started to see things differently. It was in the quiet that I began to hear myself. Not the version of me performing or achieving, but the one simply being. The one I had ignored beneath all the noise. I’m still learning

My dear one, my strength, You are still in the middle. You are still in the cave. You are still in the moment when the pain is so brutal, so animal, so deep that time bends. You are still on your knees in the dark room of your own body, screaming with your eyes closed, trying to expel something that is yours, but that can no longer remain inside. This divorce…Is not a separation. It is a birth. Violent. Raw. It is flesh tearing from the inside, a scream trapped in the throat

I wander through this quiet haze, seeking the lost pieces of me a soul adrift, yearning to be whole. I crave the warmth of love’s embrace, the gentle touch that quiets loneliness, yet I know the time is not yet ripe. Now, I must tend to the garden within, let the wounds breathe, the heartache seep, to feel the shadows and the light alike, to meet myself in stillness, to remember who I was before the world’s noise. Anyone who steps close now will find not love, but need’s echo

My eternal one, If someone lives constantly in your mind, it is not chance. It is not memory. It is the echo of something older than time. I do not call you and you do not write to me. There is no voice between us and yet… you are here, within me, as though you have always been. I feel you in the marrow of silence, in the hidden rhythm beneath my heartbeat. It is as if your soul has braided itself with mine across lifetimes, and no distance, no silence, no forgetting could ev

There is a waiting. One that exasperates us or tears us apart. I exist in a mad desire to rip the hands off time and break open the windows of this insane longing for you. Whoever said that longing doesn’t cause physical pain has surely never known the true absence of someone. Waiting is like the heart... silent, entering little by little, on tiptoe, so as not to wake the emptiness that was left behind. As the night embraces the moon, I waited for your embrace. And yes, it is

Nine years ago today, you made me a mother again… and not just any kind of mother. A boy mama. And what a journey it’s been… one filled with wild energy, boundless curiosity, deep emotions and a love so fierce it takes my breath away. You look so much like me and yet you’ve taught me more about myself than I ever could’ve imagined. You move through this world with intensity, with fire in your eyes and joy in your soul. You feel everything (and I mean everything) with your who

Dear me, Yes, you ended it. And still, inside you there is nothing but a crushing emptiness, a suffocating weight dragging you down with every breath. There is no hope here. No warmth. No light. Only this cold, relentless pain that refuses to loosen its grip. It pulls you back again and again to what you lost and to everything you will never have. You don’t want to look beyond it. You can’t. The silence is brutal, and it is consuming you from the inside out. The Tower fell. N

Before the April 25th Revolution, a quiet sorrow hung over the lives of women in Portugal. Under the long shadow of the Estado Novo, they were expected to live in silence, keepers of the home, guardians of tradition, never the authors of their own stories. The law treated them as fragile extensions of their husbands, needing permission to work, to travel, even to dream beyond the walls of their homes. Their voices were hushed, their ambitions dimmed and their rights a distant

Today marks 3 years since I had to make the most heartbreaking decision of my life, the moment I had to let my dad go. There are no words that truly capture how much I miss him. The world has kept spinning, days have come and gone, but there’s a part of me that’s still frozen in that moment. That quiet goodbye. That aching silence. I miss his voice, steady and reassuring. I miss his hugs that somehow made everything feel okay. I miss the way he always knew what to say, even w

Three years have passed since I last heard his voice. Three years since I said “Happy Birthday” for the last time. Three years... and so much has changed. Life keeps shifting, twisting, moving forward even when we’re not ready. But through all the chaos, all the growth, all the pain and beauty of these years, one thing has never changed: I know he’s still with me. He’s there, in the quiet moments, in the victories, in the times I feel like giving up. Watching over me. Guiding

Sometimes the best moments come from simply embracing the present, feeling the warmth of the sun and letting go of plans.

Who am I? I am contained fury. I am a storm on the verge of breaking. I am the scream no one wants to hear because it is too honest, too dirty, too real. And tonight…tonight I will bleed. I will tear off this skin that no longer serves me. I will face the fucking door I’ve kept locked for far too long. Because behind it is the truth I avoid: I am no longer who I pretended to be. I’m tired. Tired of pretending I accept. Tired of smiling while I die slowly. Because I was not ma

At 16, life hit me with two brutal lessons in heartbreak. My father’s second divorce shook the foundation i stood on, and just months later, i lost a friend in a car accident. He was fun, full of life, smart and gorgeous! Someone who lit up every room, who made you believe in the beauty of the moment. He was the rockabilly, always in his signature red leather jacket, fearless and unapologetically himself. Since then, I’ve always had my own red leather jacket. Not just to hono

I always struggled to meet people who could truly meet me... not just my body, not just my time but my mind. Conversations often felt shallow, predictable, safe. I learned how to exist in that space, how to accept less than what I secretly longed for. And then you appeared. Out of nowhere. No warning. No grand entrance. Just your presence, quiet, steady and suddenly I was awake. You challenged me without force, without ego. Your words were soft, but they carried weight. Intel