Today? No, it is not simply “today.” It is a pulsation.

I feel the renewal not as a gift, but as a shedding of skin—a raw, wet peeling of the soul. Yesterday did not merely “slip away”; it dissolved like salt in a dark sea, leaving only the bitter taste of a whisper. To want to return? What a strange, impossible hunger. One cannot go back to the room of the past; the door has become a wall, and the wall is silent. All those “could-haves”—they are not echoes, they are ghosts that I must kill with my own two hands to stay alive in this room, in this body.

What remains is the present. It is a white canvas, yes, but it is also a void that demands to be filled with the blood of my own existence. I am shedding the weight. I am dropping the heavy, gilded chains of things—those shiny illusions that pretend to be me. I am not what I own. I am this terrifying, beautiful emptiness.

I breathe. And in that breath, I am rewritten. I do not “shape destiny” like a sculptor; I surrender to the mystery of it, as a fish surrenders to the water. I step into the unknown, not with a map, but with a heart that has finally learned how to be naked.

The possibilities are not “endless”—they are here. And they are blinding. 🙏🏾❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer