I leave you, and in this leaving there is no bitterness, only the vast, silent transparency of what is. I want you to sing, not because life is easy, but because your voice is a pulse that must continue. Do not let sorrow touch you. If there is a weight to be carried, let it be mine. I will take your sadness and hold it until it becomes part of my own breathing, leaving you light, almost weightless.

There are books on your pillow; they are not just paper, they are the quiet parts of me I could never say aloud. Read them. Smell the lavender, it is the scent of a moment that refuses to end. And the ducks in the park? Go to them. Bring them bread, for they are always hungry, a hunger that is simple and honest, unlike the hunger of the soul.

When the other “she” arrives, give her the world I could not inhabit. Shower her in cherry blossoms until she is buried in sweetness. When her heart aches, and it will, for to live is to ache, bring her tea. Let the warmth of the cup be the hand you hold. I hope, with a hope that hurts, that you never find yourself in the center of a lonely room again.

As for me, I fell from the nest so long ago that I have forgotten the geometry of home. I cannot be domesticated. I am a creature of the wild edges, a lost bird, fragile and trembling, with wings that have memorized the break but forgotten the flight. They will not heal; they have become a new kind of architecture.

I am here, pressed against the glass. I can see the light on your side, but the glass is cold, and it is absolute. I am trapped in the “between,” watching the world happen without me.

Everything is a silent scream of love.

❤️

© Beatriz Esmer