In the moonlit forest, the werewolf prowls, a creature of legend and lore. Love, for me, is like the werewolf – a force both beautiful and terrifying, a wild and untamed spirit that comes at a gallop, riding a mare called sadness.

The werewolf’s eyes gleam with a fierce yellow light, reflecting the intensity of love’s passion. But as the creature races through the night, its path is marked by the hoofprints of sadness, each step leaving a trail of iron and strange metal, the color of wine, of blood, and of death. This metal, akin to jealousy, serves as a reminder of the darker side of love – the sharp edges that cut deep and leave scars.

Just as the werewolf is both feared and revered, so too is love, a force of nature that can bring both joy and sorrow. It is a wild and unpredictable ride, where the thrill of passion is tempered by the sting of heartache. And in the haunting howl of the werewolf, I find echoes of love’s own untamed spirit, a force that can both exhilarate and terrify, leaving its mark on the soul like the imprint of a creature’s paw in the forest floor.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer