I know now, after sixty-two years old, that the finding and losing, the forgetting and remembering, the leaving and returning—never stops.

It’s not a cycle. It’s a current. Life doesn’t loop; it flows. Sometimes gently, sometimes with the force of a flood. And in that flow, we are carried through moments that shimmer with clarity and others that dissolve into fog. We find people, places, pieces of ourselves—only to lose them again. We forget names, promises, even dreams. But then, unexpectedly, we remember. A scent, a song, a silence brings it all back.

I’ve left homes, jobs, lovers, versions of myself. I’ve returned to some. Others I’ve only revisited in memory. But the leaving never meant the end. And the returning was never quite the same. Because the whole of life is about another chance.

Another chance to say what wasn’t said. To forgive. To be forgiven. To try again. To begin again. To love better. To live deeper.

And while we are alive—till the very end—there is always another chance.

Even now, I feel it. In the quiet of the night. In the ache of nostalgia. In the thrill of possibility. Life is not a closed book. It’s a manuscript in progress. Scribbled in margins. Rewritten in bold. Torn and taped back together.

So I walk forward, knowing that the story isn’t finished. That the finding and losing will continue. That the forgetting will be softened by remembering. That the leaving will be followed, someday, by returning.

And that every breath is another chance. ❤️🙏🏾

©️ Beatriz Esmer