There was a time when silence spoke louder than any voice.

In the stillness of twilight, when the world held its breath,

I felt it—an ache in my bones, ancient and unyielding.

Not pain, exactly. More like memory etched into marrow.

A whisper, persistent and low, threading through my ribs

like wind through hollow reeds.

It called to my heart—not with urgency, but with knowing.

As if it had waited lifetimes for me to listen.

And I did. I sat with it, this ache, this whisper,

and let it tell me stories I had buried beneath

the weight of survival.

It spoke of love lost and found,

of grief that shaped me,

of joy that I had once feared to feel.

It reminded me that there is much I must feel

if I ever hope to heal.

So I did not run.

I did not numb.

I stayed.

And in staying, I began to mend.

Not all at once, but slowly—bone by bone, breath by breath.

The ache became a rhythm.

The whisper, a song.

And my heart, once guarded, opened like a window to spring.

©️ Beatriz Esmer