Vivir Sin Miedo (2024)

The world outside had become a gallery of threats: crossing the street meant the chance of a car swerving too close; buying bread meant the risk of a stranger’s cough; loving again meant the possibility of loss so sharp it could cut through bone. So she stayed inside, where the walls were soft with memory and the only weather was the rise and fall of her own breath.

She bought a mango from a cart, ate it standing up, juice running down her wrist. She smiled at a child who was not afraid of anything yet. She crossed the street without counting the cars. vivir sin miedo

“You’ll die out there,” she whispered. The world outside had become a gallery of

Vivir sin miedo —not as a destination, but as a decision you make again and again, sometimes in the span of a single breath. She smiled at a child who was not afraid of anything yet

It was small, brown, unremarkable—but it threw itself repeatedly against the glass, trying to get back out into the dark. Elena watched it for an hour. Then two. The moth did not stop. It beat its wings until they frayed at the edges, and still it flew toward the invisible barrier, convinced there was a way through.

That night, back in her apartment, she left the window open.