Fragments of Cassandra

There are strings inside the humans heart

Delicate cords that keep the chambers moving,
opening, 
closing,
holding rhythm together
even under pressure.

And maybe people are not so different.

Because throughout life
we suffer tiny ruptures of the soul
disguised as heartbreak, 
grief, abandonment, betrayal.
The body survives them all,
but survival is not the same thing as remaining untouched.

Each loss leaves scar tissue.
Each repair pulls tighter than before.
Until one day you realize 
your heart still beats,
but it does so carefully now.

Like something exhausted
from stitching itself back together
with trembling hands.

There are moments the pain repeats itself so often
the nerves grow quiet from overuse.
Not healed.
Just numb.

Maybe that’s the curse:
you do not fully shatter.

You break only enough
to keep beating.
Only enough
to still wake up tomorrow.

A heart rarely dies all at once.

It survives in fractions.
In weakened walls.
In silent repairs.
In mercy.


Be’ahava,
Cassandra