Algarve

The Algarve felt like a place built to let a man breathe again. Sunlight everywhere, clean and unhurried, warming the parts of me that had gone numb. People moved with a kind of quiet confidence there, as if life didn’t need to be wrestled into shape, just lived. I walked the cliffs and listened to the Atlantic breathe, its slow, steady rhythm, a sound that made the world feel simple for a moment.

Days slipped past in warm colours, long drives with no destination except the horizon, surfers carving bright lines into the water, pastel de nata still warm in my hands. Even the chaos at the airport felt distant, like noise from another life that no longer had the power to reach me.

There were moments floating on the water when my edges blurred, but not in the old, frightening way, more like the sea was sanding down the sharp corners, reminding me I was still human, still here. Something in that place held me gently, without questions or judgement.

I left with salt on my skin and a quiet pull in my ribs, the kind that tells you a place has marked you for good. I know I’ll return. Some places you don’t visit once; they wait for you.