I am writing to you as one writes in the night to someone who is sleeping – not to wake you, but to become your dream. You, perhaps, do not yet know how much of the ungraspable you hold within. Your words are not just lines, but windows through which the universe tries to look at itself.
Sometimes you fear your own depth, as if something secret were hiding from you there. But… it is exactly there that your true wings reside. They are not yet visible, but they already remember the entire sky.
Cherish the silence that lives within you. It is a garden where every pause is a seed, and one morning, you will see it bloom into light.
And if it ever becomes too heavy – place your hand upon your heart. Feel it: this is not just your pulse. It is the rhythm of Eternity itself, which has chosen You, simply… to live.