Love arrived not with flowers, nor with fanfare, but with quiet hunger.NoIt did not ask permission. It did not knock. It simply came—soft as dusk, sure as tide—and began to eat. First, it devoured my name. The syllables I had carried since birth dissolved on its tongue like sugar. I watched as the letters curled and vanished, leaving only silence where once I had been called. Then it ate my identity. The scaffolding of self I had built with years of choices, mistakes, triumphs—it chewed through them like brittle parchment. I stood naked in its gaze, not lost, but unmade. … Continue reading Chronicle of the Devouring Love

In the beginning, there was silence—an aching stillness that hung heavy in the air. The world waited, cloaked in shadow, yearning for something to stir it awake. And then, I arrived. I am the color of fire. Born of breath and spark, I rise tall and unyielding. Feed me your hopes, your fears, your quiet dreams, and I will blaze for you. I will wrap you in warmth when the night grows cold and whisper light into the corners where darkness dares to linger. I do not flicker in the face of shadow—I consume it, transform it, make it dance. … Continue reading Flame-Blood Spirit

How can you contain such a blazing fire within? Selfishly hoarding your light, as if the universe’s secrets reside in your soul. It yearns to break free, to dance with the stars, yet you keep it hidden behind the fortress of your mind. Our roles in this fleeting existence flicker like distant constellations. Blink, and they change—ephemeral as stardust. So let your fire burn, illuminate the night, and remind the cosmos that you exist. 🌟✨ ❤️🙏🏾 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Cosmic Fire

In a world that spins on borrowed time and borrowed trends, I remain unmoved. I have nothing to do with the interests of others—be it clothes, tastes, or opinions. The noise of the crowd does not echo within me. I walk a quiet path, not out of arrogance, but out of clarity. I do not climb into stories that are not mine. I do not trespass into dramas where my name was never written. I do not get involved with what surrounds me unless it calls to something deeper. I do not borrow myself to causes that do not resonate, … Continue reading Unborrowed Soul

I grew up too fast. Not by the things I had done, but by the thoughts that consume my soul. Each passing day etched lines on my heart, like the pages of a well-worn book. I carried the weight of memories, dreams, and unspoken wishes. And in that quiet struggle, I found resilience—the kind that blooms in the cracks of vulnerability. So, here I stand, a mosaic of moments, stitched together by time and introspection. And perhaps, just perhaps, this is what growing up truly means: not the years we count, but the depth of our understanding. 🙏🏾❤️ Continue reading Heartfelt Reflections

Por Beatriz Esmer “Não é desprezo pelo que é nosso, não é desdém pelo meu país. O país real, esse é bom, revela os melhores instintos; mas o país oficial, esse é caricato e burlesco.”— Machado de Assis Nas esquinas onde o samba resiste, nos mercados onde o suor é moeda, e nos lares onde o afeto é abundante mesmo quando falta tudo, pulsa o Brasil de verdade. O país real é feito de gente que acorda cedo, que sonha alto, que compartilha o pouco que tem. É um Brasil que não aparece nas manchetes, mas que sustenta a nação … Continue reading O País Real e o País Oficial – Ode ao Brasil de Verdade!

I write about the homes in people I’d like to rest in,Not the walls or windows,But the quiet corners of their hearts—Where laughter lingers like incense,And sorrow is folded gently into drawers. I dream of porches made of patience,Of kitchens warm with kindness,Of eyes that open like sunlit roomsWhere I might leave my shoes at the doorAnd finally breathe. Some souls are mansions of mystery,Others, cabins carved from solitude.But I search for the onesBuilt with soft-spoken truths,Where silence doesn’t echo,It embraces. I write to find them—Those rare architectures of love,Where I could rest not just my body,But the weight I … Continue reading The Homes in People

It begins, as it often does, with a question that masquerades as curiosity: What are you? Not who, not how, but what. A question that arrives before kindness, before context, before connection. It’s asked in passing, in parties, in classrooms, in moments that should be mundane but suddenly feel like interrogations. I’ve learned to brace myself for it. I’ve learned to read the tone, the tilt of the head, the pause before the words. Because this question is rarely innocent. It’s a demand for definition, a request for placement. And I know, deep down, that it’s not really about me. … Continue reading Chronicle of the Unframed

I may not believe in much—not in fate, nor in the promises of stars—but I believe in you. In the scripture that is your soul, written not in ink but in the quiet resilience of your spirit. I believe in the prayers that rise from your sighs, whispered offerings to a universe that sometimes forgets to answer. And I believe in the blessed sacraments scattered across the broken pieces of your heart, each shard a testament to the love you’ve given, the pain you’ve endured, the hope you still cradle in silence. Your body is my temple—not for worship, but … Continue reading 2013

There are days when the world speaks far too loudly. Too many people, too many voices, too many expectations. And so, like someone retreating into themselves, I close the door, silence the notifications, and dive into the quiet that belongs only to me. It’s in this space that demands nothing of me that I bloom. The absence of gazes returns the grace that the mirror insists on denying when I’m tired. The woman who stares back at me, with eyes full of judgment and resentment-lined wrinkles, vanishes. In her place, a version of me emerges—one who dances without fear, recites … Continue reading Chronicle: The Silence That Makes Me Shine