Your body, a symphony of stardust and ancient echoes, echoes the fierce grace of lionesses. The same cosmic forge that shaped their sinew and fire courses through your veins. You are kin to the wild, a whisper of wilderness woven into flesh.

Three-quarters water, you flow like rivers—relentless, carving canyons in the bedrock of existence. Your tears, saltwater streams, sculpted mountains, and valleys. Each drop, a testament to resilience, a hymn sung by the tides.

In the helix dance of your DNA, wolf genes howl. Twenty amino acids, the alphabet of life, spell out your existence. You are the poetry etched in nucleotides, the secret language of survival. When you unravel, remember: you share this script with the moon-hungry wolves.

And when the mirror reflects fragility, know this: the air you breathe is a tempest. It fans the flames of forest infernos, devours old growth, births new beginnings. You are the arsonist of renewal, the phoenix rising from charred embers.

Diamonds, mere carbon crystals, dazzle in borrowed light. But you? You are the uncut gem, raw and unapologetic. Imperfections are your facets, refracting courage and vulnerability. Shine, even when the world insists on polish.

So, my dear, when doubt gnaws at your edges, remember: you are forged in cosmic kilns, baptized by starlight. You are the symphony, the river, the wolf-song, the wildfire. You are so much more than carbon—more than atoms and elements. You are the universe dreaming itself alive.

© Beatriz Esmer