Tag: feelings

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Tender Invitation and Transformation

beatrizesmer

Come here, with all of your parts too soft for this world. Bring your tender heart, bruised by the harshness of life, and let it rest in the cradle of my care. Surrender your hell hurting, the pain that has etched itself into your soul, placed in hands that did not know how to hold it. I will be careful with it, with you. I will gather your layers, each fragile piece, and weave them into something different, something like heaven and moonlight. In the quiet moments, I will quiver from loving you whole, with all my smallness. My love, … Continue reading Tender Invitation and Transformation

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Apology to Oneself

beatrizesmer

In our hearts, we often find ourselves tangled in the web of apologies. We whisper “sorry” for our existence, for our limitations, for our very essence. We apologize for our illnesses, our absences, our words spoken in haste. We drown in a sea of regret, feeling the weight of every missed message, every unspoken sentiment, every moment of longing. We extend our apologies to the world, yet we forget the most crucial apology of all – the one owed to ourselves. We must learn to forgive ourselves for the times we wore masks to please those who never truly cared. … Continue reading Apology to Oneself

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Embracing Vulnerability

beatrizesmer

In moments of solitude, I find myself stripped of the armor I wear daily. The confidence that often cloaks me is but a facade, a shield against the vulnerabilities that lie beneath. There are countless nights and days when the only solace I seek is the warmth of an embrace. To be held, to feel the gentle reassurance of another’s presence, is a comfort I cherish deeply. It is in these moments that words become unnecessary, and the simple act of being held speaks volumes. There are times when the weight of my worries is too heavy to articulate. In … Continue reading Embracing Vulnerability

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Translating Pain

beatrizesmer

In the dim light of the room, shadows danced on the walls, mirroring the turmoil within her heart. She sat by the window, the world outside a blur of raindrops and memories. Her voice, a fragile whisper, broke the silence, “How do I translate this pain into words?” Tears welled up in her eyes, each drop a testament to the unspoken agony she bore. He stood beside her, his presence a silent anchor in the storm. His gaze, tender yet resolute, met hers. “You can’t,” he replied softly, his words a gentle balm to her wounded soul. “Some feelings just … Continue reading Translating Pain

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Marks of Time

beatrizesmer

In the moments of reflection, we come to understand that time, with its relentless march, leaves its signature upon each of us. These marks, delicate and intricate, are the silent storytellers of our lives. Some are mere whispers, light and simple, noticed only by the discerning eyes that pause to see, to truly see. They tell tales of fleeting joys and gentle sorrows, of moments that brushed past us like a soft breeze. Yet, there are other marks, deep and creased, etched into the very fabric of our being. These are the marks that lay bare our vulnerabilities, raw and … Continue reading Marks of Time

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The Philosophy of Love and Desire

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Love, they say, is blind, a force that defies reason and mocks the wisdom of philosophers. Yet, beneath this veil of mystery lies a truth as clear as the morning sun: our choices in love and desire are the mirrors of our deepest convictions. Imagine a person standing at the crossroads of their desires, each path illuminated by the light of their fundamental beliefs. The one they find sexually attractive is not a mere coincidence but a reflection of their innermost philosophy. It is as if the soul whispers its secrets through the language of attraction, revealing the essence of … Continue reading The Philosophy of Love and Desire

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Writing in the Rain

beatrizesmer

Written In a rainy Sunday It’s raining here, and the wind doesn’t want to stop knocking on my window. I love the rain, but I still can’t understand why I write every time it appears. Maybe because, if you know how to listen to the rain and the silences, they have their own words. Or maybe, because it also falls on your indecipherable thoughts, while I’m here convincing myself that, no matter how much something can tear us to shreds, or pieces in a trunk, or even like skeletons in a closet, we will never be completely destroyed. I write … Continue reading Writing in the Rain

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Spring’s Renewal

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“Yes, I deserve a spring–I owe nobody nothing.” I have walked through the harsh winters of doubt and the stormy nights of self-reproach, but now, as the first light of spring kisses the earth, I realize that I am worthy of this rebirth. I have shed the weight of expectations that were never mine to bear, and I have untangled myself from the webs of obligations that sought to bind me. The journey to this moment has been long and arduous, but with each step, I have grown stronger, more resilient. I have learned to listen to the whispers of … Continue reading Spring’s Renewal

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When I grow up, I want to be an artist.

beatrizesmer

In the mess of my childhood, I often found myself lost in the colors of my imagination. The world around me, with its vibrant hues and intricate patterns, whispered secrets of beauty and wonder. I dreamt of capturing these whispers, of translating the language of the universe onto a canvas. As I grew, so did my dreams. They blossomed like wildflowers in the meadow of my mind, each petal a stroke of inspiration. I envisioned myself standing before a blank canvas, my heart beating in rhythm with the brush in my hand. The colors would dance and swirl, creating a … Continue reading When I grow up, I want to be an artist.

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Naked Desperation in the Citadel

beatrizesmer

In the heart of an ancient citadel, I stand, stripped bare before the relentless gaze of life. The memories of my past are but a distant echo, lost in the labyrinth of my mind. Here I am, naked and exposed, on the threshold of a place that feels both foreign and familiar. The stone streets whisper secrets of forgotten times, and the wooden windows, tightly shut, offer me a semblance of privacy in my exposed state. Despair clings to me like a second skin, a constant reminder of the homeland that has forsaken me. I am a stranger in this … Continue reading Naked Desperation in the Citadel