Fragments of Cassandra

I used to think a beautiful life
would arrive like thunder-

Something cinematic,
bright enough to make the whole world stop.

I thought happiness
would be a destination,
some distant place that I would recognize
when I finally arrived. 

But maybe it was never a place.

Maybe it's this.

Windows down,
Sunday pouring through the car
like honeyed light,

music braided into the wind,
my hair becoming ribbons
in the open air.

And you beside me-
the person who turned silence
from an empty room,
into a place I can rest.

Nothing extraordinary is happening.
No universe is splitting open
to tell me that I have finally made it.

Just a road stretching forward
without asking anything from us.

And for once-
I am not looking in the rearview mirror.
I am not waiting for happiness 
to reveal the knife
behind it's back. 

The world moves past my window.
Trees becoming watercolor,
Sky spilling blue across the horizon.

I let my hair dance with the wind,
without worrying about the tangles.

I let the road remain unknown without needing to know where 
it ends. 

Because somewhere between
the music,
the breeze,
the warmth of you beside me...

I realized-

Maybe romanticizing your life
isn't pretending it is beautiful.

Maybe it's finally becoming soft enough
to notice that it already is. 

And if this is all the movie ever gives me-

This road,
This quiet,
This ordinary Sunday,
You besides me-

Then let the credits roll. 


Be'ahava,
The Mourning Bird