Along life’s paths, we become halves. Halves to fit into smaller spaces. Less suffering, it’s true, but also less life and less love. This half is shaped by the distance we create between ourselves and others, between ourselves and existence itself. Those who fragment, numb themselves to say goodbye to what consumes them.

We stop feeling the urgency to exist, and little devours us beyond our own half. We ignore the heights of love, no longer knowing the pain of falling, nor our own freedoms.

In our halves, we lose the heights of love. We no longer feel the wind in our hair as we fall, nor the euphoria of flight. Life becomes a flat plain, where the urgency to exist fades. Our freedoms are reduced to limited choices, and what devours us is only the shadow of what we could have been.

Sometimes, I long for whole wings. For dizzying falls and unrestrained flights. Who knows what we might find up there? Perhaps true love, overwhelming passion, or simply the sensation of being alive.

And so, we move along the road of halves, balancing between comfort and curiosity. And who knows—one day, we might become whole again.

©️ Beatriz Esmer