The sun comes up, and I'm still awake. I never really know whether to say good morning or good night. Stopping at sunrise, slowing down through the morning, only to begin another day when night falls. A question without a real answer. I no longer have the energy I had at twenty-five. But after thirty, my willingness has never felt sharper. Neither has my emotional clarity. My feelings, still wonderfully confusing, now blend into something quieter. A happiness born from opportunity, softened by experience. Sadness has been slowly giving way to time. I've simply been spending more time being happy, and passing a little of that happiness to the people I love. I'm afraid. Of not living enough. Of never outgrowing the person I was yesterday. Of not becoming someone I admire. Of not moving forward despite being afraid. Of losing when I could have tried. Of never feeling pleasure. Of never giving it. Of living without it. So I do. So I try. So I wish people good morning at night and good night in broad daylight. Good afternoon never seems quite enough. After all, in Portuguese, Bom dia somehow lasts all day. Good night belongs only to a small piece of it. English seems to draw those borders more carefully, with its days, mornings and nights. Living has always been better than dreaming. As I drift farther away, don't let me become just another memory. If life ever brings someone new, I hope they never have to compete with what we once were. There are moments that refuse to happen twice. The horizon remembers. So does the night. I've watched bridges disappear behind me. I've watched entire castles surrender to the tide. Some things were never built to last. Some were only meant to teach me how to let go. And maybe that's enough. If you're ever alone, look up for a moment. Not every light in the sky is someone you've lost. Not every silence means something has ended. Still... if you happen to make a wish, let it be an honest one. Maybe that's how we remain close to the people we've loved: not forever, but long enough to leave something infinite inside one another. So, about good days and good mornings... maybe all I really want is a good day. Today. Without obstacles. With joy. In daylight or in darkness. Together. Tangled or still. Because skin was never the whole language. If tangled, I hope we're in rhythm. Back and forth, in the oldest way. The pleasure of giving pleasure. The satisfaction, perhaps, of satisfying. If still, I hope that rhythm stays. Not as a destination. But as a way back to each other. Just looking toward an endless horizon, fully aware that even infinity has an evening, and that soon enough the sun will set only to make room for another good morning. Strange, isn't it? Just another Monday night, letting my thoughts wander. --

June 29th, 2026.