He didn’t arrive with promises. He arrived with presence. And it was with words — sharp, sweet, precise — that he broke me. First in silence, then in questions that stripped my soul bare. I thought I knew myself, but he unraveled me like someone reading a forbidden book by candlelight.

Then, effortlessly, he opened my mouth. Not for kisses — not yet — but for laughter. Laughter that came from a place I didn’t even know existed. He filled my mouth with pure air, like he was breathing life into me. He knew exactly where my sad bones were hiding. Touched them like a pianist playing blind — and hit every note.

Before him, I carried doubts like chains. But he came, and with a smile that looked like it had been stolen from heaven, he cleared my mind. His presence was a spring breeze slipping through an open window, autumn leaves dancing across the floor. He swept me. Washed me. Left me gleaming like freshly polished crystal.

I was a tree pruned by life. And he made me remember the sky was still there, infinite, waiting for me. He lit me up. Literally. Like someone turning the key in an old engine and hearing it roar for the first time in years. Before him, I was dead to life. After him… I was fire.

©️ Beatriz Esmer