Fragments of Cassandra

Please love me gently.
I am still learning how to survive
all the ways I have already been broken.

There are old bruises beneath my skin
that no one sees anymore
because time has taught me
how to hide them prettily.

But my heart;
it is tired.

It beats like something held together
by shaking hands and stubborn hope,
like cracked ribs protecting
an organ that has already forgiven
more pain than it was ever meant to carry.

Please do not lie to me.
Do not place your hands on my soul
if you are only going to disappear with pieces of it.

I have spent years
kneeling on the floor of abandoned love,
gathering fragments of myself
small enough to slip beneath the skin
and ache there for months.

And still,
I love fully.

I love like a woman crawling toward the finish line
with broken limbs,
still believing something beautiful
might be waiting at the end of the marathon.

So if you love me next,
please be patient with my trembling.

Listen when sadness settles into my voice.
Learn the hidden corners of me.
Guide me gently when the darkness returns.
Be soft when the world has not been.

Be the kind of man
whose words mean something.
The kind that stays.
The kind that does not make me beg
to be remembered.

Because I think this may be
my final attempt at love.

And I am frightened
my heart cannot survive
being rebuilt one more time.

But even now,
some fragile part of me still hopes
you will hold it carefully enough
that it finally gets to rest.


Be’ahava,
Cassandra