Perhaps it will be the soft murmur of birdsong that stirs me from slumber, their melodies coaxing my spirit back into the vessel of flesh and bone. Or perhaps it will be the gentle touch of sunlight, fingers of warmth tracing patterns on my closed eyelids, urging me to rise.

And what shall I awaken to? Memories, like fragments of dreams, will flutter around me—some vivid, others elusive. Faces and places, laughter and tears, all woven into the tapestry of my being. Perhaps I will remember the taste of summer strawberries, their sweetness lingering on my tongue, or the scent of rain-soaked earth after a storm.

But memory is a fickle companion. It dances on the edge of consciousness, teasing with half-formed recollections. We wake to forget and remember, caught in the ebb and flow of time. The truth, like a distant shore, remains just out of reach. We shield ourselves from its brilliance, for it is too vast, too blinding to behold all at once.
Off and on we go, waking and sleeping.

Day by night by day by night, we traverse this fragile existence. Each breath, each heartbeat, a step closer to understanding—or perhaps further away. We crawl back into the cocoon of slumber, seeking refuge from the weight of reality. And yet, even in our sleep, we are not truly dormant. Life pulses within us, a river of forgotten dreams and unspoken desires.

Have we always been so asleep?

I wonder. There was a time, a distant echo in the corridors of my soul, when we were more than mere sleepwalkers. We were dreamers awake, architects of our own reality. We painted constellations across the sky, wove stories into the fabric of existence, and whispered secrets to the wind.

Here we are waking

The dawn tiptoes across the horizon, brushing the world with hues of rose and gold. I stand on the threshold, a witness to this unfolding miracle. The buds of memory unfurl within me, stubbornly pushing through the soil of forgetfulness. I remember the taste of stardust, the echo of ancient songs, and the promise of eternity.

My soul has a master plan

It weaves threads of purpose, connecting moments across lifetimes. Each choice, each heartbeat, a brushstroke on the canvas of destiny. And so, I wait—patiently, stubbornly—for the next awakening. For tomorrow holds the key to forgotten truths, to the dance of existence, and to the whispered secrets of the universe.

I believe, tomorrow, I will wake…

And when I do, I will greet the sun with open arms, embrace the memories that flutter like moth wings, and step into the river of time once more. For life is a journey of remembering, of blooming and withering, of becoming and unbecoming. And in the quiet spaces between breaths, I find solace in the rhythm of existence.

Tomorrow, dear friend, we shall wake. 🌟🌿✨🙏🏾❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer