Yolanda Cristobal
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HER EVERY SIN
He didn’t even realize, as he tucked that wave behind her ear, that he was heaven-sent. Everything she had ever asked for was staring back at her in human form. He was every birthday wish, made of pink candles, feeling the hope in her breath as it brushed past their lips. He was a random thought she’d had on a Sunday, half asleep, wondering if she’d have to make coffee when he finally arrived, not just tea. He was the empty space on the right side of the bed, the side closest to the door. He carried that quiet, fatherly kind of protection, with a hand raised only ever as an offering to help her watch her step. He was built from all the love she had ever given to the wrong places. It flowed through him, pumped through his veins, generously poured out so she would never again feel as though she wasn’t enough. He was quietly kind and never wanted to stand in her spotlight. Every tear that had fallen from her face was sewn into his skin. He knew her heart, her hurt, her every sin. Made in the image of an angel, he must have been. He didn’t even realize it: he was everything she had ever yearned for, and more.
By Yolanda Cristobal 4 days ago in Poets
A LETTER TO MY NINE YEAR OLD SELF
And on the days when the grief feels just a little heavier, I hope the love does too. I hope you sit in his favorite spot, play all his favorite songs, and put on his clothes and fall asleep with them still on. I hope these things remind you that it was such a blessing to have loved someone so deeply that they are worth missing. I hope you cry, not because it’s over, but because it happened, and because when you miss him so much, you’re reminded of that magic. That suffering a great loss doesn’t take away from a great love. And that heaven is never too far away if you just look up. On the good days and the bad days, I hope your grief is a reminder that you experienced true love, even if it didn’t last forever. And I hope you know how lucky you are to have loved someone so special, that saying goodbye hurts this much.
By Yolanda Cristobal 4 days ago in Poets
HOW I STARTED PUBLISHING ON VOCAL MEDIA. AI-Generated.
For a long time, writing lived quietly in the background of my life. It filled notebooks, scattered documents, and late-night thoughts that never quite reached beyond my own screen. I wrote because I needed to. Because certain ideas refuse to stay silent. But eventually, a question began to surface: what happens to words if no one reads them? That question lingered longer than I expected.
By Yolanda Cristobal 7 days ago in Education
WHEN YOU HEAR YOUR NAME
There are times when a person swears they clearly heard someone call their name, turns around, looks around… and there’s no one there. For many, this experience is unsettling. Some even think something strange is happening, that someone is “calling them from another plane,” that they are being bewitched, or even that an invisible force is trying to communicate with them. However, reality is usually much simpler, much more human, and, above all, much more manageable than imagination suggests.
By Yolanda Cristobal 12 days ago in Confessions
