Hiraeth is a Welsh word — a deep longing for a home that no longer exists or maybe never did. That’s the undercurrent of everything I write.

I’m Maria, and I write the unsettling things: regret, memory that twists, love that bruises. I use poetry, flash stories, and reflections to make sense of the past, or at least to survive it.

I believe in stories that crawl under your skin and leave a sting. Sometimes the bones beneath grin and push forward like punctuation in a sentence that won’t end.

My influences are eclectic: the melancholic swirl of The Cure, the smoke and silk of Stevie Nicks, the cracked face of a doll, the colourful drawings by kids found in waiting rooms, the gait of a stranger walking to a bus stop.

If you’ve ever traced your name in a fogged-up window while chaos played out downstairs, or if a song can undo you in two notes, you’re in the right place.

This is a space for kindred spirits, dark hearts, and soft landings.

Thanks for being here.

Maria