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.

My name is Maria, and I’m a writer of the quiet, aching things. Regret. Memory. Redemption. Love that lingers. I use poetry and short-form reflections to make sense of the past, or at least to survive it.

I believe in stories that crawl under your skin and stay there. Sometimes the bruises never heal.

My influences are eclectic: the melancholic swirl of The Cure, the smoke and silk of Stevie Nicks, and the haunting familiarity of a basement you once hid in. You’ll find reflections here about music, nostalgia, and how we look for love in a stranger’s face.

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