Love promised to remember, but not at that moment. Perhaps tomorrow, with the dawn’s gentle touch, it would fare better. She delighted in the thought of helping it, confident that when the time came, she would have the answers. The world, a tapestry of deceived souls, remained separate from Love, which, in its purest form, simply did not remember.

Out of habit and necessity, we replaced God with prayer and happiness with poetic musings. Verses became placeholders for our yearnings, read in the stillness of night while Love remained elusive. We rewrote these verses repeatedly, forgetting the essence of Love ourselves.

Perhaps, in the end, the poem was like rediscovering a long-lost treasure, something we had forgotten we ever possessed. It was a reminder that even in our forgetfulness, Love remained, waiting patiently to be remembered. And so, we continued to write, to read, and to remember, knowing that one day, Love would find its way back to us.

© Beatriz Esmer

Dry Pastel Art – Children