Last night I stumbled into a restaurant known for its Fado. It was a matchbox of a place with a heavy green door that was barely cracked open. It was dark and pushing the door open was terribly awkward because of the unknown on the other side. And yet, the door was pushed open. This hidden gem is run by all women, two of which are sisters. The waitress delivered plates of seafood between belting songs of godly nature. They welcomed me like I was one of their own. Hours later, many glasses of red wine and lipstick on my cheek, I am forever changed. Although we barely spoke the same language, this is what chosen family feels like.
My heart, Lisbon. You have it.