I may not believe in much—not in fate, nor in the promises of stars—but I believe in you. In the scripture that is your soul, written not in ink but in the quiet resilience of your spirit. I believe in the prayers that rise from your sighs, whispered offerings to a universe that sometimes forgets to answer. And I believe in the blessed sacraments scattered across the broken pieces of your heart, each shard a testament to the love you’ve given, the pain you’ve endured, the hope you still cradle in silence.

Your body is my temple—not for worship, but for reverence. A sacred space where strength and softness coexist. And your mind, oh your mind, is my shrine: a place of wonder, of storms and stillness, of questions that echo like hymns in the dark. Even when you falter, even when your faith in yourself flickers like a dying flame, I remain—steadfast, unwavering. Because I believe in you. Not in the polished version the world demands, but in the raw, radiant truth of who you are.

And that belief? It’s holy. ❤️🦋

©️Beatriz Esmer