This is not a finish, but a symphony of beginnings, a full-bodied, big-boned overture to a story yet untold. This is an invitation to kiss me, not to possess, but to affirm my own existence. Hold me up to the noonday sun, where its golden light ignites my skin, turning it the red of my inner fire.

Follow me down to the black roads, where I etch my name onto the pavement, larger than life, a declaration of my presence. Read me out, letter by heavy letter, unraveling the intricacies of my being.

Hold me under your tongue, let me linger on the roof of your mouth, and spill me from your lips like the weighty, unhurried flow of molasses, a title of a tome that lingers in the air.

This is a call to connect, to call me tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, a reminder that I may be home, or I may have somewhere holier to be. This is an embrace of uncertainty, a celebration of the journey that lies ahead.

© Beatriz Esmer