The Visit

As I wait for myself, the words come to visit. I search among my verses and fruits for some unwary certainty of me, a distracted truth hidden between the lines of this chaotic life. The pages whisper, and the ink flows, painting the canvas of my thoughts with shades of clarity and confusion. Each line, a brushstroke of my essence, and each stanza, a window to the soul I am yet to fully understand. The journey through my own poetry is a labyrinth of revelations, where the unexpected becomes the familiar, and the familiar, a source of new wonder. In this dance of words and self, I find pieces of the puzzle that is me, scattered and waiting to be found.

Every rhyme, every verse, they whisper secrets I wasn't ready to hear. They unearth emotions buried deep within, and I feel the weight and lightness of being all at once. Each stanza is a new passage, a journey that brings me face to face with my own reflection, no longer a stranger but a friend.

In this dance of self-discovery, I find solace. The words, like old friends, guide me back to myself. And as I pen each line, I become a little more whole, a little more complete, embracing the beautiful chaos that is my existence.

? Beatriz Esmer