I don’t know who you think I am. But I am the woman you barely notice on the street. I am the one curled up on the park bench at midnight, shivering. I am the one with dirty fingernails and shoes worn to their soles. I am the shadow you glimpse in a dark alley. I am the creak of wood outside your window, the monster that stalks your dreams.

I write because there’s no other way. There’s nothing else left of me. I write because, in a story, I can peel away my own life and take a real bath. I write because the words “warm water” hold meaning when set down on paper.

Today, the most wonderful thing that happened to me is that my stomach feels full. I am alone in this tiny apartment with no windows, alone in the middle of the day, and it feels like midnight. But I have a book by my side, and when I read it on the kitchen table, I feel like a queen.

This is what you don’t see—what you might never see. ❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer