Fragments of Cassandra

There are some decisions that do not ruin us because they are wrong,

but because they force us
to finally choose ourselves.

And sometimes
that feels cruel.

Like holding a blade
with your own trembling hands,
knowing whichever way you turn it,
someone will bleed.

So you stand there,
heart aching beneath the weight of mercy,
trying to become small enough
to carry everyone else’s pain
without creating any of your own.

But grief grows heavy
inside people who were taught
their sacrifice was love.

And there comes a moment
when your soul whispers,
softly, desperately:

What about me?

Not every selfish act is evil.
Sometimes it is holy.
Sometimes it is the first warm meal
after years of starvation.

Because giving yourself grace
does not make you a monster.

It makes you someone
finally learning
that your heart was never meant
to be the altar
everyone else survived on.


Be’ahava,
Cassandra