I stand before the mirror, a silent confidante. Its silver surface reflects not just my features, but the intricate tapestry of my existence. Here, in this private sanctuary, I unravel the threads of my soul.

Free love—those two words echo like distant chimes. Some speak of it with fervor, as if love were a wild bird they could set free. They paint passion in hues of crimson and gold, leaving trails of desire in their wake. But I? I tread cautiously, tracing life’s sore spots—the places where reality rubs against my fragile skin. Hypocrisy, that elusive companion, walks beside me. I wear masks and weave narratives to justify my contradictions. Survival demands it, and so I gush out my salvationism, hoping the world won’t notice the cracks in my performance.

Yet, there’s nobility in acknowledging my own deception. I stand here, unflinching, and admit my flaws. “Yes,” I say to the mirror, “I am both saint and sinner.” My hypocrisy is an open secret, a whispered confession. I dare anyone to condemn me, for what is truth but a shifting kaleidoscope? Its colors blend and separate as I move through time.

And women—the burden they carry! The weight of being the only true among a sea of pretense. I navigate treacherous waters, my heart beating in sync with ancient rhythms. Patience wears thin, even for the bravest souls. I confess my cowardice, but perhaps it’s wisdom in disguise. The bitter decades have vaccinated me against blind idealism. Stupidity finds no fertile ground within me; I’ve learned its contours, its pitfalls.

So, I stand here, eyes meeting my own reflection. “I’m a coward,” I whisper. But courage wears many faces. It’s the audacity to admit imperfections, the vulnerability to say, “This is who I am.” The mirror listens, its silver surface absorbing my truth. And I? I continue to gaze, unyielding—a mosaic of contradictions, a masterpiece of vulnerability.

May the mirror always be my accomplice, reflecting not just what I see, but what I dare to reveal.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer