Ah, how mistaken are those who believe I write, my dearest ones. I merely conquer the silences of the paper through sheer persistence. I insist they tell me something, I pester them to declare what they know. I intimidate with sharp accents and cutting words. And because they cannot say anything beyond what they have told me, because they cannot denounce me for threats or falsehoods, I affix my signature below. I appropriate what is not mine. You see, I would not know how to speak of such beautiful things, lies I have never used, or truths that never belonged to me. The relief is that, for this reason, I am innocent of the things others believe I accuse them of in writing. The relief is that I can remain guilty when I absolve them in writing.

Ah, how mistaken are those who believe I write. It is life that, in the silences, uses me to write. It is the moment that describes the moment. I am merely used to transcribe miracles that do not belong to me. I am an immediate witness to the revelations. 🙏🏾❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer