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🤍 The signal

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Sometimes life catches fire in the smallest details. A single gesture, barely noticeable, something I never would have seen… but you did.
And from that detail, so simple and innocent, a conversation was born; from it came another, and then another, until without realizing it we began weaving a story. Word by word, like pieces falling into place with a natural ease that still amazes me.

Talking with you was learning the truth without disguises. Saying what hurt without fear of being misunderstood. I discovered that naming the shadows of the past doesn’t create rejection, but music: the exact note that, joined with yours, began composing our own melody.
A song of two voices, where even the choruses held a ray of hope.
A song that invited us to drop the weight, to rise to the surface, and finally breathe, without hurry and without fear.
To breathe not by depending on each other’s air, but by sharing it: light, free, luminous.
Even when we touched uncomfortable topics, there was laughter, there was calm… (poisons included).

That’s when I understood that fears are human, and trusting is, too. Trusting the process, the sign, the open hand. Because that hand has its scars as well. And in those marks I recognized the truth: I wasn’t the only soul that had bled. Like me, you also knew the cold, the shipwreck, and the loss.
Maybe that’s why our encounter felt so clear: it was time to move forward. Time to walk without masks. Time to let go.



I wasn’t expecting you. And yet, you arrived.
Life works like that sometimes: it removes what suffocates, just to make room for what can breathe. We resist, we don’t understand, we doubt… until one day the sign stops being a whisper and becomes certainty (crossing seas, crossing oceans, crossing stories) to remind me that no distance is an obstacle when two souls finally recognize each other.

...SweetHeart...