I’ve come to understand that detachment is not abandonment but rather an act of self-respect; a quiet declaration that I deserve peace, that I refuse to be bound by cycles of unreciprocated love or relentless strain.

For 14 years, I tried to keep a relationship alive, mistaking resilience for staying power. I worked tirelessly, and my world narrowed to appeasing, to soothing, to holding on when there was nothing left to hold. I learned how to accept silence where there should’ve been comfort, slept on the floor while trying to sustain what we built together. I lost my sense of worth to a hope that maybe one day, things might change. It took years to see that love shouldn’t be a negotiation, and that the best loyalty is sometimes to oneself.

Stepping away was painful, and the act of never looking back demanded a kind of courage I hadn’t tapped into before. But there’s a quiet power in leaving with grace. I’ve learned that not every path is meant to be traveled forever, and sometimes we honor love most by letting it go.

Recently, I faced this lesson again, standing on the edge of possibility with someone I loved deeply. I wanted so badly to bridge the gap, to bring her back. But in this journey, I’ve realized that love, true love, chooses you back. It should stand beside you, as unwavering as your own will. So I stepped back, choosing myself over chasing what wasn’t reaching for me anymore.

In these moments, I teach my daughter what it means to walk away with dignity. I hope she sees that choosing herself will never be a weakness, but an understanding that we should always honor our own values. We deserve someone who sees the worth in the effort we give, someone who meets us where we are. And until that person comes along, we have our own strength to lean on.

What this has taught me is that walking away isn’t an ending; it’s making space for something better. It’s trusting that when we let go of what harms us, we open the door to what can truly fill us. And above all, I want my daughter to remember: walking away is not a failure; it’s the purest form of grace, an affirmation of our worth, and the promise of something more.

—

He did not surrender,
but chose a gentler path;
not out of weakness,
but the strength to finally let go.

He gave her his heart and soul,
filled the empty spaces with care,
held onto hope for a second chance,
for love and future with patience
until it slipped away.

In the clarity of distance,
he saw the truth he’d hidden from:
that sometimes love must loosen its grip,
not to vanish, but to set free.

So he walked away;
not bitter, nor broken,
but with the grace of a man who knows
that peace and respect weigh more
than a love that no longer reaches back.

And though he carries the sadness,
he feels the weight lifting,
his own quiet redemption,
a testament to the heart
that could have held on forever
but chose instead
to walk forward.

— Sincerely, Boris

In the recent months, I have been reflecting on letting go of someone I loved deeply and how it has been both a challenge and a gift. Though we didn’t share a long history, our connection felt like a rare, enduring bond that had felt like a lifetime of passion and care. In that brief time, I felt truly seen and accepted in a way that gave me hope, as if a new world had opened. Now, in releasing that dream, I’ve come to see that each relationship, whether brief or lasting; has shaped my understanding of how I wish to love and be loved.

Throughout my dating journey, I’ve met incredible people. Each connection has offered unique lessons, insights, and reflections of who I am and who I want to become. There’s a richness to those experiences, even when they don’t lead to lasting partnership. They remind me of the qualities I admire in others and in myself; the qualities that, with time, will align in a way that feels right. Rather than giving up on finding love, I see these relationships as part of a continuous journey that strengthens my vision of the life and love I want to create.

The more I’ve grown, the clearer I’ve become on the ways I want to give and receive love. I’m learning that love, at its best, feels like a balance of freedom and presence, moments of vulnerability and self-respect. As I move forward, I’m more intentional about what I want from a partner; qualities that foster a sense of mutual respect, shared values, and an unspoken understanding. My experiences have shown me that love thrives not when it’s forced or pursued out of fear but when it’s nurtured from a place of genuine connection and trust.
Letting go of a deep love has brought me closer to my purpose, reminded me of my strength, and deepened my faith in the journey.

Moving forward doesn’t mean leaving behind the beauty of what we shared; instead, I carry it with me, allowing it to fuel my hope for the future. I honor what was, release it with love, and step forward with renewed clarity. This journey is far from over; I remain open, curious, and hopeful, trusting that each new connection will bring me closer to a love that feels like home.

—

Heartbreak, a bitter medicine,
teaches me where I ache and why,
where I bend and where I break,
where I must learn to stand alone.

In each loss, a deeper knowing,
a softening to love’s open arms,
and the courage to seek,
again and again,
a love that feels like home.

— Sincerely, Boris

As I navigate through life, I am increasingly aware of the deep connection between living and dying. Each moment serves as a reminder that everything is temporary, urging me to seek the truths within myself.

Facing the possibility of death due to two brain aneurysms was a turning point for me. The thought of having only a one-third chance of surviving surgery forced me to confront my fears directly. I realized that death is not merely an ending; it can also be a gateway to something new. This experience opened my eyes to the importance of embracing every moment and the love I share with those around me.

During my recovery, I reflected on my life in a way I never had before. I encountered vivid memories and emotions that mirrored my thoughts and actions, revealing the depth of my journey. I learned that dying is a transition, a sacred opportunity for change. With each breath, I strive to cultivate awareness and find clarity amid the noise and chaos.

I began to appreciate love and compassion more than ever, understanding that these feelings connect me to everyone else. My actions impact the world around me, emphasizing our shared existence.

I am learning to accept that life and death are part of a continuous cycle; a journey of growth and renewal. By accepting this flow, I have opened myself to new possibilities and deeper understanding. I have found peace in the realization that, despite the uncertainties, life is a precious gift that I cherish every day.

—

In the quiet of the mind, I find clarity,
Life and death intertwined, both a single path.
In the bardo, I encounter my fears,
Illusions dissolve as awareness arises.

Compassion guides me through the unknown,
Love transcends the boundaries of self.
Each moment is a lesson in letting go,
Embracing impermanence, I find freedom.

As I awaken, I see the cycle of rebirth,
In every ending, a new beginning unfolds.
With each breath, I cultivate presence,
And in stillness, I connect with all that is.

— Sincerely, Boris

I have traversed untamed landscapes,
Where each step became a dialogue with the earth—
A delicate negotiation of trust and healing.
Roots intertwined with silent, profound stories,
Grounding me in resilience,
Stories of my ****** assault are now embedded in the soil.

Rocks stood silent, bearing witness to the relentless bullying and gaslighting.
Their stillness echoed the weight of those memories and the growth that followed—
Unyielding yet steady, much like the strength I built with every step.

In this journey, I grappled with self-discovery,
Navigating the boundaries of my being,
Especially as an autistic soul in a world that often misunderstood me.
Each struggle revealed new layers of my identity,
As I sought to understand my place amidst the noise.

The weight of expectations felt heavy,
But I learned to carve out spaces where I could breathe.
My peace was no gentle stream;
It was a summit earned through struggle—
Vast, unyielding, and hard-won.

As I ascended this demanding peak,
The view stretched far beyond the horizon,
Revealing landscapes of healing,
Belonging to all who had climbed beside me.
From this vantage point, I saw how our journeys intersected,
Each of us is a testament to perseverance.

I welcomed others not for comfort,
But for their courage,
Those willing to face the rough terrain,
Understanding that climbing meant shouldering the weight
And sharing breaths.

Belonging was not a destination;
It was a connection—a living, breathing understanding.
Our paths twisted and turned,
Yet they ran parallel, rooted in the same soil
Of shared struggle and triumph.

What I learned was this:
We do not belong by walking the same path,
But by the act of walking itself.
By moving, by simply being,
We claimed our place in the world.

Once, I sought familiar steps but found only uncharted terrain.
Now, every trail I walk becomes a bridge to cross.
And with each step, the earth beneath me whispers:
I am not alone.

As a father, I have been entrusted with life’s most precious gift; a love without condition, the privilege to nurture and guide a soul as it blooms into something extraordinary. These fleeting moments are equal parts thrilling and terrifying, each one a gem, etched in the depths of memory like the most sacred of recordings. They capture growth, stumbles, triumphs, and milestones; each step shaping our daughters into resilient, independent women. Women who lift one another, unite in strength, and rebuild a world where they lead with grace and wisdom.

From the moment I first gazed upon my daughter, her eyes met mine with an unspoken question, a silent wonder. She asked a thousand things, yet I could only return the same gaze, full of awe. How astonishing she was; this new life, cradled in my arms, an extension of myself. For every question she had, a hundred more unfolded in my heart. Who will she become? What will her voice carry? How will our love manifest, as she grows?

As the years have passed, she answered each question, both in subtle, fleeting moments; laughter, tears, resilience, dance; and through our conversations, at the dinner table, on swing sets, on our long walks, and in the quiet calm of bedtime.

With each answer, new questions emerge, and so we trade curiosity, passing it back and forth like our own secret language. What kind of friend will she be? What passions will drive her? What books will she like to read? What will our bond mean to her as time moves forward?

She has never hesitated to ask the hard questions; about my failed marriage, my surgeries, my relationships, my fears. And in asking, she would often offer the answers herself. In doing so, she has shown me the depth of her growth, the person I have always wondered who she would become.

I will never cease to nurture and encourage her curiosity, nor will I ever stop embracing the questions she asks. And though I may never stop wondering; what will she do when I am no longer here? Who will be there to care for her? How will she remember me? I know this: her curiosity will lead her, as it has always led me.

Our mission is to foster their intellectual curiosity, teach them the weight of choices, and empower them to know their worth. We show them love firsthand, cultivate their growth, teach them the value of gratitude, and then; when the time comes; we set them free to soar.

–

Don’t clear every hurdle in their way,
or hover close above.
They’ll never find their own way,
if we mistake fear for love.

It’s not our place to smooth their path,
or “snowplow” and “helicopter” away each test.
But to stand beside them and watch them grow,
as they learn to do their very best.

We raise them not for ease, but good,
with hearts both kind and strong.
For in each challenge they will grow,
and learn where they belong.

Let’s guide our children, but let them lead,
and trust them as they make mistakes.
For they must pave a lane for themselves,
to be able to fix what they break.

— Sincerely, Boris

In the pursuit of lasting, secure relationships, I find myself reflecting on how anxiety has left its subtle, often unspoken imprints across my life. Growing up with a distant relationship with my parents, I internalized early on a sense of unfulfilled attachment, the absence of closeness planting seeds of doubt and a yearning for validation. In the silence of those unmet needs, I began searching for the assurances I never received, hoping that connection could anchor me to something steady.

This desire for security led me into a marriage that, for fourteen years, became a mirror of my deepest fears rather than a refuge. Each day felt like an exercise in survival; measuring my worth against another’s indifference, trying to reconcile my self-worth and patience with a relationship that drained rather than sustained. My anxieties flourished in that space; I was reaching for connection but grasping at emptiness. The experience taught me how profoundly loneliness can exist within a partnership and how silence can erode one’s sense of self over time.

Today, as a single father to my daughter, I am determined to write a different story, to create a life for her filled with the presence and closeness I once craved. I want to show her that love can be secure and kind, that her worth is intrinsic and unshakeable. I am learning, slowly, to offer myself the same assurance I give to her; a steady reminder that my value is not dependent on another’s approval or affection.

In this journey, I am coming to see that true security begins with me, with the quiet work of nurturing my resilience. Rather than allowing my fears to dictate my relationships, I am choosing to embrace them as part of my story, without letting them define its future. Each relationship now becomes an invitation to bring forward a more authentic, calm self. Through this process, I am becoming not only a more present father but a person capable of opening up without seeking guarantees. And in that vulnerability, I find a strength I never knew was mine.

—
​​In quiet moments, I can feel her near,
A light within the dark that holds me up,
Her laughter rising like the dawn’s first breath,
A fragile warmth that steadies broken ground.
Through storms endured, I draw upon her spark,
Her gentle hand pressed firm against my own,
The innocence she guards with steady grace,
Ignites a will to face the world once more.

I walk a road unkind and fierce at times,
Yet find my steps grow firm, my heart unbound,
For in her eyes I see a thousand suns;
Their heat is enough to melt the hardest of fears.

If ever strength were born from flesh and bone,
Then mine arose when she took in her breath;
My will to fight, to stand when all seems lost,
Lies nestled safe within her boundless trust.

— Sincerely, Boris

At 41, having lived through various transitions; born in São Paulo, immigrating to Canada at the age of five, growing up in an often unhappy home, enduring a long and difficult marriage that ended in divorce, and now raising my nine-year-old daughter as a single father; I’ve been compelled to reflect on what it means to grow older with grace. Life has already taught me the weight of loss and the fragility of existence: the loss of my left eye to glaucoma, the two brain aneurysms I survived, and the heartache that comes from broken relationships. Yet, these experiences have not only scarred me; they’ve also shaped me.

I’ve come to realize that aging gracefully isn’t simply about the outward appearance or clinging to youth. It’s a deeper reckoning with time, a quiet acceptance of the changes within and around us. As I navigate the complexities of midlife, I’ve learned to approach each day with a sense of purpose, embracing the wisdom that pain often brings and the clarity that loss can sharpen.

Key to this journey is self-awareness, particularly in how I care for my body and soul. Holistic health is more than diet and exercise; it’s about the harmonization of mind, body, and spirit. I’ve learned to nourish myself in ways that go beyond the physical; through meaningful relationships, through a spiritual practice that keeps me grounded, and through creating space for silence and reflection. These days, my focus is not on controlling the inevitable changes but on responding to them with patience and reverence.

There’s also a new sense of responsibility as a single father. My daughter, with her innocence and resilience, reminds me daily that aging is not a solitary journey. In her eyes, I see the future and feel a renewed sense of purpose to lead by example; showing her how to navigate challenges, how to face setbacks with dignity, and how to love herself even when the world may not.

Aging, I’ve come to understand, is a dance with time. It’s a gradual shedding of the layers we no longer need; old hurts, limiting beliefs, attachments to things that do not serve us. And in this shedding, I’ve found moments of peace. Life has slowed in ways I didn’t expect, and the urgency of youth has softened into a steadier, quieter ambition.

While I continue to work hard; whether for my health, my career, or as a parent; I’ve begun to appreciate the importance of balance. Each morning, I strive to listen to what my body needs, to be more forgiving to myself when I fall short, and to practice gratitude for the moments of connection I share with my daughter, my family, and my close circle of friends.

The art of aging, for me, lies not in denying the process but in leaning into it with grace. It’s about cultivating inner peace in the face of life’s uncertainties, finding joy in simplicity, and embracing the profound beauty in the act of becoming. It’s about loving deeply and living authentically, despite the scars and the struggles. My journey may have been fraught with hardship, but it has also been rich with learning, growth, and the unshakable belief that, even in the midst of it all, there is grace to be found.

–

An aging mentor, in fading grace,
With wisdom etched upon his face,
He speaks of life, of love, and pain,
As time slips by, like autumn rain.

A student comes, week after week,
To listen close, to hear him speak,
Of work, and loss, and growing old,
Of tender truths, both harsh and bold.

The body weakens, fails, decays,
Yet stronger still, the heart conveys,
That wealth is found in those we love,
In ties below and hopes above.

He teaches not to chase the gold,
But seek the warmth that hands can hold,
In fleeting time, find joy and grace,
For death, in life, we all must face.

Through parting words and final breath,
He shows the way to conquer death:
In giving love, we learn to live,
And find in loss, the strength to give.

— Sincerely, Boris

I have learned that much of the pain in our world stems from a system that teaches men to disconnect from their emotions. I am beginning to understand that this conditioning, rooted in patriarchy, compels men to equate strength with emotional suppression and dominance, while vulnerability is seen as weakness. As I reflect on this, I see how it harms not just men, but everyone around them, distorting relationships and stifling love.

I am realizing that true liberation, for both men and women, requires breaking free from these destructive patterns. It is not enough to simply reject patriarchy on an intellectual level; I must also recognize the emotional toll it takes on men, who are conditioned to shut down their feelings and distance themselves from empathy. I have come to see that without emotional openness, without the freedom to feel and express tenderness, men remain trapped, unable to experience love in its fullness.

I have learned that healing requires more than dismantling external structures; it calls for a radical rethinking of masculinity. I am now convinced that men must be encouraged to embrace emotional vulnerability, to reconnect with their capacity for love and empathy. I understand that love, in its most profound sense, is transformative, and that it thrives when we allow ourselves to be open, honest, and unafraid of intimacy.

In this process of unlearning, I am reminded that the path to healing is not solitary. I have realized the importance of creating spaces where men can safely explore their emotions, where they can reconnect with the parts of themselves they have been taught to hide. I am committed to fostering communities that prioritize emotional growth and reject the outdated notions of control and dominance that have long defined masculinity.

I have come to believe that change is not only possible but necessary. It requires me, and all of us, to embrace new ways of being that honor emotional expression and nurture the kind of love that allows us to grow. I am committed to this journey, knowing that it holds the potential to reshape our world into one where love, justice, and connection can flourish.

—

In a world where men must not reveal
the wounds that fester deep inside,
I see now, to heal, we must unseal
the softness that we’ve been denied.

The path is not for men to dominate,
but to embrace what makes us whole;
to find the grace in open hands,
and free us from our guarded souls.

In this, I trust, there is a way
where justice, love, and truth align.
Through courage, we can clear the way
and let our hearts entwine.

— Sincerely, Boris

I am fortunate to have been given a second chance at life. After experiencing the same persistent headache every night for five consecutive days, I recognized that something was not right. Upon arriving at the hospital, the staff noticed a concerning spike in my blood pressure, prompting a CT scan of my brain.

The results revealed the presence of two aneurysms, and the medical team needed to determine whether they were ruptured or hemorrhaged. After three painful attempts at a spinal tap, I insisted that the surgeon take over. Unfortunately, the procedure confirmed my worst fears; there was blood in the cerebrospinal fluid, indicating a hemorrhage. Faced with the grim reality of being given only a one-in-three chance of survival, I was urged to contact my family. In that moment, my thoughts were consumed by my daughter, brother, and sister; my entire world.

I awoke two days post-surgery and spent the next fourteen days recovering in the hospital. This harrowing experience profoundly altered my perspective, illuminating the areas of my life that I had neglected; my mental, physical, and spiritual health. I was forced to confront a haunting possibility: a future where my daughter would grow up without me by her side. The weight of that realization was overwhelming.

I am grateful to be here today, having narrowly escaped what felt like my expiration date last April. My daughter and I cherish every moment together, and I approach life with renewed purpose. Since my recovery, I have navigated the complexities of life, experiencing love, heartbreak, and the joys of watching my daughter thrive in fourth grade. I have been rediscovering the beauty of my city and striving to prioritize my well-being through healthier choices that benefit my mind, body, and soul.

Yet, I live with the awareness that I am on borrowed time; a gift not everyone receives. Each day feels like an undeserved grace, a reminder that life is fleeting and precious, and I will never take a moment for granted. This journey has pushed me to not just survive, but to thrive with intention. I am proud of the inner work I have embraced: mindfulness, meditation, journaling, and writing poetry, each practice helping me deepen my understanding of self and guiding me toward emotional clarity. I’ve rekindled my love for reading, finding solace and inspiration in the written word once more. And physically, I’ve committed myself to healthier living; nourishing my body through balanced nutrition and daily exercise.

This dedication to my mental and physical health has been transformative. It is a testament to my resilience and to the hard-fought battles I wage daily to become the best version of myself. I am proud of the progress I have made, and I honor this borrowed time by continuing to grow, knowing that every breath, every step forward, is a victory.

—

I walk among the living, yet I feel
the dark of those who left, who lean in close,
their soft whispers like petals falling.
The day of death; today, I feel them near,
those gone and yet alive in every breath I take.

They know I stood close, brushed the calm brink,
my life offered, a fragile cord severed,
but then, stitched back with thread of borrowed breath.
They gave me seconds spun from their own stillness,
a kindness of the dead to the dying.

In their silence, I hear a call to love and live,
Not with the fury of a man cheated from death,
but with the gentleness of one held tenderly
by unseen faces, those who walk the other side,
yet send their light across to warm my face.

I am a guest here, held by the mercy of the lost,
a witness who owes his heartbeat to their generosity.
For every hour given, I bow to them, thankful.
In each sunrise, I see them wink from the shadows,
their gift of borrowed time; a vow I carry forward.

— Sincerely, Boris