In the corners of my soul, love once dwelled, a fragile presence, a tender whisper that left me too exposed, too vulnerable. It was a delicate dance, a hesitant embrace, an admission of the wildflowers that bloomed within my very being. But love, for most, was this frail, unseemly way of existing, a state that rendered me too open, too sincere about the secrets nestled in my bones, too fluid, too susceptible to the fires of passion. And so, I learned to apologize for love.

I sat on my hands, restraining their longing to reach out. I curled up my toes, evading their desire to guide me towards another, towards something more. Falling in love became a battlefield within, a conflict that raged within the chambers of my heart. The looming shame, because I refused to swallow the ardor that shimmered in my eyes, each time, as if I had been instructed to, became a daily dimming of my inner light. Much of my life has been a struggle to talk myself out of love.

To understand that the world perceives the audacious vulnerability of love as a perilous flaw is a relentless fracturing of my breath. And yet, to realize that I must choose love despite it all is an enduring stitching of my purpose, my obligation.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer