I have watched, with a fatigue that predates my own birth, the slow crumbling of pedestals. I have seen men draw maps of their own virtues, describing in meticulous, ink-stained detail the demons they would never permit themselves to be—only to inhabit those very shadows by nightfall. They swore their angels would never stoop, yet I see the dust of the abyss on their wings.

So, if you find me retreating to the corner of some dim cathedral, mixing holy water with the salt of my own prayers, do not mistake it for piety. It is merely a hygiene for the soul after the contagion of human company.

Between the man who lies to himself and the beast who is honest in his hunger, I choose the latter. I would rather walk with the wolves; at least their teeth are bare, and their moon is silent. 😪❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer