Last day in Lisbon, and the long way home
Today was our final chapter in Lisbon.
And I’m proud —
proud of having listened to my intuition.
Of turning what was meant to be a partial break
into something fuller, deeper, softer.
A real pause. A real yes.
We started the morning packing.
The kind of quiet routine that already whispers goodbye.
Porridge on the patio.
Light playing on stone.
Then — one more city day,
not rushed, not forced. Just us.
We stumbled upon a beautiful local place —
full of color and care.
Nourishment in every sense.
Fresh food. Gentle faces.
A pause that reminded us what presence feels like.
Later we returned to the promenade.
Waves of people, sun, movement.
The city gave us its pulse one more time.
And we let it carry us.
Nowhere to be — just here.
Then came the shift.
Bags in hand.
Bus rides through Lisbon’s tight, painted streets.
A quiet gratitude for every corner.
And then — the long path home.
My little one, all of two and a half,
pulling his tiny suitcase across a city.
Heartbreaking and heart-filling at once.
Metro. Terminal shuttle.
And then: the good old-fashioned queue.
No bag drop. No digital ease.
Just waiting. Just humans in line.
Sometimes the infrastructure doesn’t match the magic.
But we moved through it — together.
He fell asleep on his father’s shoulder.
Only to wake, overtired, somewhere between waiting and takeoff.
But then — midair — suddenly awake and glowing.
Full of stories.
As if Lisbon had taken root inside him too.
We landed late.
Tired beyond words.
Just before arrival, a quiet message reached me.
A little ripple from home.
Not everything is soft. Not everything is easy.
But somehow — everything belongs.
And tonight, we return.
To clean sheets prepared in love.
To the invisible threads that hold us
when we cross skies and seasons.
A day that was everything.
Movement, stillness, wonder, weariness.
Thank you, Lisbon.
Thank you, life.
We’re home.