From the steps of the public spaces, my heart spills ink onto the page. It’s a brilliant autumn day, and I’m wrapped in a white dress, a small neck scarf fluttering like a secret. Children blow bubbles, capturing sunlight in iridescent orbs. Rainbows glide across their fragile surfaces, and suddenly, I am a child again—innocence reborn.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the symphony of the world. It’s no longer just light; it’s a dark pink, reminiscent of strawberry candy. The sun’s warmth still kisses my eyelids. Coins clatter as hurried footsteps pass, and buses wheeze, their exhaust blending with the steady beep-beep of traffic signals. Laughter—pure and unbridled—echoes from the playground.
Leaves scrape the concrete, their autumnal descent taking the shape of helicopters. My pen dances across the paper, trying to capture this scene for you. But lately, I’ve lost faith in the world’s sharpness. It’s as if I’m dimming, extinguishing one sense like a flower whispering a candle flame to death.
Yet they say that loss heightens other senses. So, I close my eyes again, and the glass shards underfoot become palpable. I walk along the sidewalk, past oncoming cars, each one a potential collision. And I wonder: How would it feel to kiss you? As if we’ve met before, in another lifetime, and our dreams intertwine like ivy.
“Write me a letter,” you’d say, your voice a soft plea. I imagine you reading it, eyes closed, tracing the inked negatives with your fingertips. No one else would read it—just you and me. The rest of the world fades away, leaving only our shared dimensions. Write it with your eyes closed, my love, but let everything else inside you burn—a constellation of longing and possibility. 🌟✨

©️ Beatriz Esmer