Silent Regrets in Alentejo

I'm standing still in Alentejo, where the air feels honest and slow.

I say your name out loud, Carlos, but only the hills say hello.

I remember when you stepped off the bus, you smiled the way you said

my name, Alexandra, like you meant it. Like nothing here

would be the same. Hmm. Hmm. You spoke of

love so easily, like it wasn't something to fear. And I wanted to believe you,

God, I wanted you right here. That weekend still lives in my

body, every touch, the future we drew. You