I look at the wall until the wall looks back, and I wonder: who is the “I” that speaks? I ask, almost in a whisper to the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun, that the light of humility might finally arrive. Not as a grand sun, but as a small, persistent candle placed deep within the cavern of my chest.

I am afraid, you see. I am afraid of the mirrors I build for myself.

May this light shine until it stings, so that arrogance, that thick, heavy silk, does not wrap itself around my eyes. Arrogance is a comfortable blindness; it tells me I am finished, that I am known. But I do not wish to be finished. I wish to see. I beg for the sight to recognize the truth of my own thoughts, those strange, wild birds that fly through me without permission.

And my intentions? Let them be stripped bare. Let them be raw and shivering. I want to stand in the center of my own heart and not turn away from the glare of what is real. To be humble is to finally have eyes; to be blind is to think one has already seen everything.

I wait in the silence. I am becoming.

©️ Beatriz Esmer