I am a prayer in the confession of poetry. In the folds of my soul, I am the whispered verse, the unspoken plea. I am the gray Sundays and the sunlit Mondays of renewal. Each week, I am the shifting sky, alternating between melancholy and hope. At dawn’s threshold, I wonder—will our thoughts cross paths, will our words entwine? Will you know tomorrow what I will know? Will you be tomorrow who I will become? The flow of time carries my question—will our essences remain synchronized?

I wanted to believe so, and I felt it so; I asked and answered because we are equivalents—we are the same search and the same discovery. Our souls move in harmony, like musical notes that meet in perfect accord. Whether I wanted you here or myself there, it makes no difference. I have long gathered your smiles, traced the lines of your mouth in my gaze. Distance is but an illusion; I have already kept every detail of you within my longing eyes.

I have welcomed longing as a presence adorned with nostalgia, watched tears fall like summer rain in my garden. Memories bloom as flowers watered by absence. This strange beauty—the unfamiliar ground we tread, yet always harvesting the same half-colored, half-smiling, fully missing versions of ourselves—speaks of what we seek but never own. We walk through unknown landscapes, collecting fragments of love, painting halves of a picture that only completes when we are together.

Half is whole; time is waiting, and distance is certainty. You are my other half. Half, like Love’s shadow on warm sunlit days. Now I see—your absence fills my void, your still steps shape the rhythm of my own. Tonight, I send the wind to guide you inward, to find me there, to meet me outside as we are within. And while I lose myself in days, I find you in nights; we exist in the moon’s glow. I will not turn to dust or stone before seeing you again. ❤️🙏🏾

©️ Beatriz Esmer