I write this letter to warn you that I am losing my usual reasons. Lucidity is but a flickering flame in the vast expanse of my mind, almost dormant. I am losing certainties as a body loses its footing in deep waters. The doctor told me that I am suffering from inaccuracy and meekness due to incomplete love. The half that fills me tips me over into the severe symptoms of passion.

Through inner delays, we understand our degrees of fever and enchantment. I have been blinking my eyes more slowly, breathing with greater attention, so as not to miss the details of life previously unnoticed, so as not to startle any slight singularity around me, to savor minute and instant sweetness. There is a hurry within me that has tamed itself without even asking: a clear symptom of contentment. For happiness is known by the calming of our souls.

Yet, because of the excess of love, I suffer torments and delirium. I feel movements in my stomach as if provoked, and I miss that feeling, which has also tormented my mind. I hear the lullaby of my heart breaking. I dissolve, numb and still, so quiet as to envy statues.

Love, it is urgent that I find you to save this fragment of time and the distance that dwells within me. That is why I write you this letter, so you do not lose me for good. If you take too long, I may no longer be myself. Driven mad, I will lose myself by gaining wings, diluted into the firmament.

After love, whether it be the sky or your bed linen, it is there where I seek shelter. Only when you came to exist within me did I learn to desire. I want now to save myself from the tepid balance and gray sobriety of those who neither love nor loathe. Your touch has created worlds and loves within me. Your presence is my exact moment to become vibrant and alive.

Yours,
In passion and hope. ❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer