Tag: life

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When You Miss Me

beatrizesmer

If you miss me, let it not be in the quiet of solitude or the depths of despair. No, not then. For in those moments, my absence should not weigh upon your heart like an anchor. Instead, let it be when the sun dances upon your skin, when laughter echoes through your veins, and when life unfurls its vibrant tapestry before you. Let it be when you have everything—the world at your fingertips, dreams within reach, and joy bubbling up like a hidden spring. And yet, despite it all, a whisper of longing tugs at your soul. When the moon … Continue reading When You Miss Me

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Transcription of the Heart

beatrizesmer

I am a scribe of emotions, an alchemist of ink. My quill dances across the parchment, weaving whispers, and echoes into existence. Each stroke etches memories, hopes, and yearnings—the very essence of my being. These pages, like silent witnesses, cradle my confessions. They harbor the rhythm of my pulse, the cadence of my longing. Ink spills like tears, and the paper absorbs my secrets, inkling by inkling. One day, when the sun has set its final blaze and the moon weaves its silver threads through the night, these pages will remain. They’ll outlast my fragile bones, my fleeting breath. They’ll … Continue reading Transcription of the Heart

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“You Are So Much More”

beatrizesmer

Your body, a symphony of stardust and ancient echoes, echoes the fierce grace of lionesses. The same cosmic forge that shaped their sinew and fire courses through your veins. You are kin to the wild, a whisper of wilderness woven into flesh. Three-quarters water, you flow like rivers—relentless, carving canyons in the bedrock of existence. Your tears, saltwater streams, sculpted mountains, and valleys. Each drop, a testament to resilience, a hymn sung by the tides. In the helix dance of your DNA, wolf genes howl. Twenty amino acids, the alphabet of life, spell out your existence. You are the poetry … Continue reading “You Are So Much More”

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Dreams for Rent

beatrizesmer

In the quiet corners of existence, I rent dreams. Fragile and ephemeral, they arrive like whispered secrets, carried on the wings of moonlight. Each dream, a delicate vessel, holds within it the promise of possibility. Life’s Fragments Together, they gather the fragments of life—the laughter shared over morning coffee, the tears shed in solitude, the fleeting touch of a loved one’s hand. These dreams are custodians of memories, keepers of moments that slip through our fingers like fine sand. Seedlings of Faith And there, nestled within their ethereal folds, lie seedlings of faith. Tiny, resilient, they take root in the … Continue reading Dreams for Rent

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The Inaccuracy of Us

beatrizesmer

There are no ready-made scripts, only characters and improvised dialogues of our ups and downs. A love that blooms unexpectedly, or one that teeters on the edge of ceasing. No necessary paths, just those that serve us and those that do not. No right door, only those that swing open and those that remain stubbornly shut. Sometimes, the best choice is not to choose at all. The most profound answer may be silence—a quiet surrender to the vastness of existence. And the cure that heals us, paradoxically, lies in feeling hurt. To live fully, we must embrace the possibility of … Continue reading The Inaccuracy of Us

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Museum of Tragedies

beatrizesmer

In the quiet chambers of flesh, where veins weave stories, women harbor more than mere existence. They are not vessels for sorrow, but rather, repositories of resilience. Each curve, each scar, whispers a saga—a delicate tapestry woven from threads of joy and pain. The body, a museum of tragedies, houses memories etched in skin, eternally inscribed. The weight they bear is not a burden, but an ocean—an expanse of saltwater and secrets. They navigate its depths, tides rising and falling, yet never succumb to drowning. For within them resides the alchemy of survival—the art of transforming grief into strength. They … Continue reading Museum of Tragedies

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Unapologetically Uncontained

beatrizesmer

They will say your heart is too messy for them, too loud, too quiet, too big, too small, too much. But you will ignore them because you were raised to exhale and to expand and to know better than to cram your soul back into your mouth for people who do not want your heart the same way they want your skin. Your heart, a tempest of colors, spills beyond the lines they draw. It dances to its own rhythm, a wild symphony of vulnerability. They may try to tame it, to fit it neatly into their preconceived boxes, but … Continue reading Unapologetically Uncontained

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Whispers of Abril

beatrizesmer

Happy Abril! Within the quiet walls of my hermitage, I find solace. Every wind that brushes against my window, every delicate flower that blooms in my garden, they all whisper poetry to my soul. Love, once a warm flame, has transformed into a bittersweet ache. Another love, lost to the relentless march of time, lingers like a fading melody. No one else resides here—only the echoes of memories and the shadows of what was. The walls of my mind, sturdy and unyielding, insist that happiness lies within these familiar confines. They tell me love is not essential for survival, that … Continue reading Whispers of Abril

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Stitching Time

beatrizesmer

I am a poor tailor of time. My fingers fumble with the delicate fabric of moments, trying to weave coherence from chaos. But the measurements elude me, slipping through my grasp like sand. The cloth always falls short, leaving frayed edges and unfinished seams. Pockets of hours, those tiny sanctuaries, mock me. They are too small, insufficient for the grand designs I envision. I stitch them together, patchwork-style, hoping to create a quilt of purpose. Yet, the threads tangle, forming knots of uncertainty. My routine becomes a labyrinth, a maze of missed stitches and dropped needles. And in this weaving, … Continue reading Stitching Time

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“The Noble Foot and the Veil of Beauty”

beatrizesmer

In the quiet chambers of existence, where whispers of truth echo through the corridors of perception, there resides a question—an inquiry that pierces the veil of convention and dances upon the edge of revelation. What spirit, pray tell, is so empty and blind that it cannot recognize the silent wisdom woven into the fabric of our being? For behold, the foot—the humble traveler of dust and dew—is more noble than the shoe that cradles it. It bears the weight of countless journeys, imprinting the earth with tales of pilgrimage and wanderlust. The shoe, a mere vessel, bows in reverence to … Continue reading “The Noble Foot and the Veil of Beauty”