I have bled pages from my soul, crafting lines truer than emotions dare to admit, and penning longings so profound that my tongue falters at their weight. The poet’s words are not mere inked letters on parchment; they are the breath, the life, and the very essence of existence. To write is to live, and without this sacred act, my soul would wither.

If every pencil and tablet were to vanish from the earth, I would turn to nature as my journal and humanity as my blank page. I would inscribe songs upon every heart, etching poems with each sunrise and sunset. My essence would overflow, an unending cascade of being, seeking to feel and embrace the vast expanse of human experience.

Each word, each verse, would be a testament to the boundless beauty and pain that defines our existence. In the quiet whispers of the wind, in the gentle rustling of leaves, my prose would find its voice. I would write the symphony of life, one heartbeat at a time, pouring my entire being into the eternal dance of creation. ❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer