It’s about the insignificance of being, the humility of existence. It’s about the mesmerizing sight of train tracks, shimmering like molten gold under the midday sun, stretching into the horizon, leading you on a journey to an unknown destination, perhaps home.

It’s about the fluidity of self, the blurring of physical boundaries, the softening of facial features, the fading of smiles. It’s about the void left behind, a human-shaped absence, a lingering laughter echoing against the walls, an unoccupied chair in the corner, a silent testament to your presence.

It’s about dreams where daylight is a forgotten concept, about closing your eyes to the world and losing the essence of light, forgetting that we crave light as we crave love and oxygen. It’s about the desperate gasps for breath, as intense as an orgasm, as final as death.

It’s about the gradual loss of words, the slow erosion of writing skills, while spectators shake their heads in remembrance of a time when you were different. It’s about the collective amnesia of history books, forgetting the true essence of poetry.

It’s about the yearning for affection, for someone’s touch, for kisses that taste like love. It’s about the existential question, the fundamental truth of being. It’s about existing, simply being, in this vast universe. It’s about life, in all its complexity and simplicity. It’s about you. It’s about us. It’s about everything.

© Beatriz Esmer