It’s been a hard journey. Since I was a baby girl, I didn’t understand anything about life—but I could feel it. Years and years of deep difficulty: no food, no basic things to survive. I don’t know how I found the strength to fight, but I did. And now, here I am, almost 62 years old. I have no answers, no explanations for life. I have simply lived.

In the quiet moments between heartbeats, I find solace. Life unfurls before me like a cherished manuscript—each page inked with memories and dreams. The years have etched wisdom (and a touch of osteoporosis) into my bones, and I savor every breath as if it were a rare vintage wine.

Perhaps it’s the awareness—the realization that time is both finite and infinite—that lends vibrancy to my days. The sunsets glow more vividly, the laughter rings more melodically. I’ve learned to dance with impermanence, embracing the fleeting beauty of existence.

Life, like a seasoned traveler, carries its own compass. It navigates through seasons, weaving stories of love, loss, and resilience. And as the years accumulate, I discover that wrinkles are but love letters from time—a testament to a life well-lived.

So, I raise my glass to the present, to the symphony of heartbeats, and to the promise that life, like a faithful companion, never ages. It merely transforms—whispering secrets in the language of sunflowers and stardust. 🌟🌻

©️ Beatriz Esmer