It has aged my friends, my family, and all things with me. Time, too, measures itself differently when we fall in love. Perhaps that’s why we feel it so deeply—whether we are a hundred or just over ten.

To those who hurt me and could not love, I chose to stop loving them. I must learn the art of letting go.
But the passions that once sparked within me—those I thought were love—I kept.

The friendships that blossomed and later revealed the true shape of love nourished me. I chose to carry them with me always.

For the love I would begin again on autumn mornings.
For the delays of waiting for what’s next.
For the distance of waiting for what remains the same.

Amidst the additions and subtractions, what remained in my heart was a supernova.

As if by leaving, I came to understand what love had done to me—what it felt like, who I was, who I could become—and everything contrary to that.

And still, it allowed me to imagine futures filled with senses, flavors, aromas, and wonder.

Maybe the future exists, among other reasons, to help us untangle the past—and to gladden the heart, like a bird we return to in its cage.

I believed I carried two hearts within me:
One to keep my blood flowing and hold a space for sorrow—like a cage.
And another, still unopened, waiting to awaken for joy and carry me with it.

I would lie awake all night, hoping to dream of that heart, so that when I woke, I could live it fully.

Sarava! ❤️☯️

©️ Beatriz Esmer