I don't know when it was. I have no date, no photo, no clear memory. It happened in the middle of an ordinary day, between a rush to work and a dinner to cook. And neither of us noticed. First times, we remember. The first day of school. The first job. The first home. They arrive announced, prepared, photographed. Last times don't. They pass dressed as ordinary days. I think about it sometimes. How many things end this way, without a sound. A last evening with university frie

What do you really want? Let's pretend we don't know. But we know. Deep down, it's already clear. What would let us breathe easier. Where we'd go, if no one were watching. It's not about finding the answer. We've had the answer for a long time. It's about how much it scares us. Because following it means hurting someone. Giving up something we cared about. Going back to the start. Standing there while the others, the ones from before, watch us become someone else. So every da

Miss Carmela. My teacher used to wait for storms. When the sky turned dark, we children would huddle at our desks. We must have been three, maybe four years old. She, instead, would open the window. She taught us how to count. First the lightning. Then the seconds. Then the thunder. The longer the wait, the farther away the storm was. A sound you can measure is less frightening than a sound that simply arrives. As we grow up, we meet other kinds of thunder. Things that arrive

Unlikely. They say it calmly, like it’s already the end of something. Like there’s nothing left to say. But the unlikely is really just a stage hardly anyone chooses to walk onto. We think of odds as fixed. Almost settled. But odds only tell you what’s happened so far. They can’t know what happens the moment someone steps up and tries. The ones watching can only guess how it ends. The one who takes the stage can still change the story. Some dreams look out of reach only becau

That phone call at six in the morning. You couldn’t finish the sentence. They said we’re coming. They didn’t ask anything else and you didn’t explain. Friendships know which road to take and they know that sign always points the wrong way. They know where you stop to eat. Things you learned together a long time ago and nobody needs to say anymore. You hadn’t seen them in five years. Maybe ten. You never bothered counting. They stayed four days and you tried to fill every hour