Fragments of Cassandra

There are trees
that spend whole winters
believing
they have forgotten
how to bloom.

Until spring arrives;
and reminds them
they never forgot.

The season simply
wasn’t theirs.

You are grieving
a door
that quietly closed.

But not every closed door
is a prison.

Some are rivers
changing course
because the sea
is somewhere else.

You think
you arrived too late.
Perhaps.

Or perhaps
love was kind enough
to let you arrive

before you built a home
inside the wrong horizon.

Do not mistake
a missed train
for a missed life.

Some destinations
only exist
because you stayed behind.

If someone
can only love you
with conditions,
with hesitation,
with one foot
already facing away,

then let the wind
carry them gently.

Birds
who belong
to your sky

do not circle
wondering
whether to land.

They simply land.

Do not spend
your precious years
trying to convince
a lock

that you were always
its key.

Some doors
were built
for different hands.

And that
is not rejection.

It is architecture.
Keep walking.

Become curious
about the person
waiting for you

on the other side
of your own becoming.

Water never argues
with stone.

It simply continues;

until one day,

without ever asking
for permission,
it discovers
the ocean.

May your heart
learn from rivers.

They do not mourn
every shore
they leave behind.

They know
that letting go
is often
the shape
of arriving.


*Dedicated to my dear friend, The Wanderer, who is finding himself. 


Be’ahava
The Mourning Bird