From the steps of public spaces, my heart spills ink onto the page. It’s a brilliant autumn day. I’m wrapped in a white dress, a small neck scarf fluttering like a secret. Children blow bubbles, capturing sunlight in iridescent orbs. Rainbows glide across their fragile surfaces, and suddenly, I am a child again—innocence reborn.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the symphony of the world. The light becomes dark pink, reminiscent of strawberry candy. The sun’s warmth still kisses my eyelids. Coins clatter under hurried footsteps, and buses wheeze, their exhaust blending with the steady beep-beep of traffic signals. Laughter—pure and unbridled—rings from the playground.

Leaves scrape the concrete, their autumnal descent shaped like helicopters. My pen dances across the paper, trying to capture this scene for you. But lately, I’ve lost faith in the world’s sharpness. It’s as if I’m dimming, extinguishing one sense—like a flower whispering a candle flame to death.

Yet they say loss heightens the other senses. So I close my eyes again, and the glass shards underfoot become palpable. I walk along the sidewalk, past oncoming cars, each one a possible collision. And I wonder: how would it feel to kiss you? As if we’ve met before, in another lifetime, our dreams entwining like ivy.

“Write me a letter,” you’d say, your voice a soft plea. I imagine you reading it, eyes closed, tracing the inked negatives with your fingertips. No one else would read it—just you and me. The rest of the world fades away, leaving only our shared dimensions.
Write it with your eyes closed, my love—but let everything else inside you burn. A constellation of longing and possibility. 🌟✨

©️ Beatriz Esmer