Am I dreaming or seeing what I see what I’m dreaming? Here begins my journey to my vital land. A foreigner, I no longer knows where the north. It took bewilder me to travel distances. Who leaves reiterates, who gets parking. The seasons lose the cycle. Not seeing the time is a rest that I authorized for resting from this ephemera hour. It is not the road that moves me; I’m that I displace myself. It is not with legs we go to places, but with the heart… And nobody does den in one place. We are always on the go even static lost in our own living room.

Are we arriving or departing? It’s the words that I travel and this is the instrument that makes me a stranger and authenticates me.

I always wonder what kind of hypocrisy makes us dream of being between walls what we should be in any corner of the world…❤

©️ Beatriz Esmer