42:I[185,["/_next/static/chunks/08z4tkzvltetr.js","/_next/static/chunks/121~yigv24_j6.js","/_next/static/chunks/0jo3du-icy6v2.js","/_next/static/chunks/15cy49d~_zsjj.js","/_next/static/chunks/0..ktetnpeix7.js","/_next/static/chunks/0_htf5~kl..m1.js","/_next/static/chunks/0i6hzvr84kc1r.js"],"SendEmailButton"] 48:I[45269,["/_next/static/chunks/08z4tkzvltetr.js","/_next/static/chunks/121~yigv24_j6.js","/_next/static/chunks/0jo3du-icy6v2.js","/_next/static/chunks/15cy49d~_zsjj.js","/_next/static/chunks/0..ktetnpeix7.js","/_next/static/chunks/0_htf5~kl..m1.js","/_next/static/chunks/0i6hzvr84kc1r.js"],"SignupCTA"] 3a:["$","h1",null,{"className":"max-w-[22ch] font-display text-[clamp(32px,4.5vw,48px)] font-medium leading-[1.05] tracking-[-0.02em] text-[color:var(--fg-1)] text-balance","children":"The day I got lost (Marcella Boccia) 🎧 English"}] 3b:["$","div",null,{"className":"flex flex-wrap items-center gap-x-4 gap-y-1 font-mono text-[12px] uppercase tracking-[0.1em] text-[color:var(--fg-3)]","children":[["$","time",null,{"dateTime":"2025-02-11T23:43:09.000Z","children":"February 11, 2025"}],["$","span",null,{"aria-hidden":true,"children":"·"}],["$","span",null,{"children":"00:01:45"}],false]}] 3c:["$","p",null,{"className":"max-w-[60ch] text-[18px] leading-[1.5] text-[color:var(--fg-2)]","children":"The day I got lost (Marcella Boccia)\n\nThe day I got lost, the sky turnedits face away, no longer blue,the clouds wrapped their bodies in the scent of ash,whispering secrets only the wind could hear.I wandered, not knowing where to go,but feeling each..."}] 43:T441,The day I got lost (Marcella Boccia)

The day I got lost, the sky turnedits face away, no longer blue,the clouds wrapped their bodies in the scent of ash,whispering secrets only the wind could hear.I wandered, not knowing where to go,but feeling each step echo through me,as if my feet were tracing forgotten roadswhere names had been erased long ago.The earth beneath me was a stranger’s touch,cold, unfamiliar, a tremor in the soil,and the trees, once silent companions,wept their leaves into the winds of time.I stood still, waiting for the stars to call,for the moon to cradle me in its silence,but no light reached my eyes,and no sound broke the sorrow that lay heavy on my chest.I got lost in the spaces between heartbeats,where memory fades like distant thunder,and the echoes of my nameare swallowed by the hollow of the universe.It wasn’t the map I lost,but the sense of home—the quiet knowing of where to place my soulamid the ruin of my thoughts.The day I got lost,I found myself in the cracks of time,holding my breath,waiting for the world to remember my name.44:T4d8,In Neurodivergent and Proud, Marcella Boccia, an Italian poet in Srinagar, weaves a lyrical exploration of identity, intensity, and defiance. With echoes of Yeats’ mysticism, Tagore’s spirituality, and Neruda’s raw passion—shrouded in a dark, haunting beauty—this collection delves into the depths of living with borderline personality disorder. Set against the turbulent backdrop of war-torn Kashmir, these poems mirror the fractured landscapes of both place and psyche, capturing the weight of emotions that refuse to be tamed. Through verses that oscillate between tenderness and storm, Boccia embraces the chaos of her mind as both a burden and a gift, rejecting the labels imposed upon her. A thread of longing weaves through the collection—an enduring, platonically charged connection with a Kashmiri poetry professor, a love story written in silence and distance. At once a declaration of selfhood and an act of poetic rebellion, Neurodivergent and Proud is a manifesto for those who feel too much, for those deemed too intense or never enough, for the wild-hearted souls who find solace and strength in words. Boccia’s voice burns like an uncontained fire, a song that will not be silenced.