No matter how far life takes me, no matter how much I grow, or how much I change… there is one place that never moves. It’s not a house. It’s not a city. It’s you. That quiet place where I don’t have to be perfect. Where my mistakes don’t define me. Where I’m still
Hello sea, take these words with you. Hold themthe way you hold the waves,without hurry,without noise. Listen to themthe way only you can. Keep them for a while. And then,when the moment is right, carry them gentlyto the right shore,to the right heart. Some messages travel far.So
Ciao. These days I came back hometo visit my family. Today I spent some time with my nephew. At one point I tried to make him laugh,just improvising something silly. And suddenly he looked at meand smiled. A simple smile.But the kind only a child can have. Sincere.Honest.Without
Ciao. This afternoon I went out for a walk and noticed these daisies in the grass. So small, so simple… but so beautiful that I stopped. I couldn’t step on them. So I walked around them and took this photo. Standing there I started thinking about life. Maybe we spend too much
Today I looked up and saw this tree. A few months ago it was almost bare. Just branches. No colors. No leaves. And yet nothing was wrong with it. It was simply winter. We often forget that we are allowed to have winters too. Moments when things fall. Moments when we feel empty. B
The light came in quietly this morning. It didn’t ask for attention. It just changed the room. And somehow, it changed me too. — Fuerpa Slow Journal
This little house looks like it was made for children. Small walls. Bright colors. A tiny door. And yet— to a child, nothing feels small. It feels big. It feels endless. It feels like the whole world can live inside it. I grew up in a small house too. Old walls. Simple rooms. W
“Hi mom.”“Hi dad.” “Yes, everything is fine.”“Yes, work is good.”“No, don’t worry.” The calls are always short. Five minutes.Ten at most. Life sounds simple on the phone. You hang upand everything feels normal. Until one dayyou see them again. A little more
“What’s your name?” “Erjon.” A pause.A confused look. “Elio,” he says.It’s easierin a countrywhere his real namesounds strange. He arrived there when he was young. A new language.A new way of speaking.A new way of living. And new eyeslooking at himas someone who d
Some steps are quiet. Not because there is nothing inside, but because not everything needs to be spoken. We carry thoughts, memories, questions, things that shape us without making noise. Not every journey is loud. Not every strength is visible. And sometimes the deepest parts o
