I am ...

a walking contradiction and I’m no longer apologizing for it. The quiet hours are not quiet at all—there’s always something tugging. A voice. A city. A possibility I haven’t touched yet.

The world spins with or without our consent, so we must learn to laugh. Or try. Or don’t. I don’t know. I only know this: the small things will save us. Coffee steam on a winter window, endless roads that disappear into nowhere, salt air in Portugal that tastes like something better could still happen. 

The sea.
The sea.
Always the sea.

Or a new pair of eyes, staring into mine.

I love people who are loud and reckless,
but I’m mostly quiet. I'm mostly sharp elbows.
3am Friday nights, all I want is to ask everyone if love is really it, the thing? and how did you keep breathing when it left?

I still don’t know how to stop aching.

People are beautiful and impossible. They carry their own weather systems, their own private earthquakes. I need to know what you dream about. What did you give up? Why did you choose the life you're living?

Some days, I couldn't care less what anyone thinks of my art because this isn’t content; this is my life. But most days, I just want to be seen. And heard. And felt.
I need you to understand what I'm saying, ok?

At eighteen I left Sweden with a rucksack, a guitar, and a dream, thinking: if I move fast enough, I can outrun everything that scares me. I was wrong about the running. But I was right about the moving.

I gave my life to my art, convinced I had something to prove to a world that wasn’t even asking. I went everywhere and nowhere. Slept on concrete. Talked to strangers who saved me for a night. Walked foreign streets until my bones showed a little too much. Eventually, I stopped looking for home in people and started building it in moments. A rooftop in a city whose name I still mispronounce. Three lines of a song that finally say what I meant.

My life is the space between departure and arrival; what could have been and what still can be. The art of staying open while everything tries to close. The refusal to settle for safety when there are still holy moments out there, calling my name.

I believe you can design your life any way you want—if you're willing to risk the blueprint. Break the pattern. Walk off-script.

When I sing, I stop disappearing. When I write, I come home. This isn’t a phase or a detour. This is the way.

I wanted to turn existence into art.
Instead, art taught me how to exist.