"Dear diary,
I'm in Morocco, it's been five days.
I can still smell her perfume on my t-shirt. I don't think I'll ever be able to wash it. I can still hear her last few words. "You're not alone anymore", she said. It's true, but I'm afraid a part of me will feel alone forever."

"Dear diary,
Today is my eighth day in Morocco and I left the house for the first time. I didn't know where I was going, I just started driving. Until I saw it. Our beach. The beach we went to together years ago. I felt like she was still there with me. I might go back tomorrow"

"Dear diary,
Day 13th. I can't sleep. It's hard to get used to sleeping on my own after the time we spent together in our caravan. But it's not even that. A strange noise came from outside and kept me awake: it was a scorpion. I'll keep it with me. I know I'll sleep better now."

"Dear Diary,
Nineteen days ago she called me her "home" and I said nothing. I just cried in silence and not because I didn't feel the same. Of course she was my home, too, but she was a home I didn't know how to live in. And now, I'm meant to be homeless for the rest of my life"

"Dear diary,
It's been a month. I still hear her cuídate buzzing in my head while she was trying to comfort me with a smile made up of tenderness and desperation. My incapability of saying nothing other than gracias still persecutes me. Truth is I keep finding myself speechless"

"Dear Diary,
It's been two months. I just got home from Morocco, and by home I don't mean my family. I mean our home. Our van. I came back to the place we decorated together, to our little things, and as much I found them in the same place we left them, something was missing."

"Dear diary,
It's day 103 of me not knowing what I'm doing anymore, so I just do what we used to do together. I still wake up early to watch the sunrise and I stay up late at night under the stars, with the only difference that the person who was once beside me is now above me."