Unequally Yoked

They love you in the future,

where promises are safe

and courage costs nothing.

But they lose you in the present, where presence requires a spine and love needs both feet on the ground.

Alas

they forget the oldest truth of all: you cannot rewrite the past

once the silence has spoken.

I loved like a storm , full-skied, unafraid, a devotion that carved its own riverbed through bone and memory.

He loved like a breeze, a touch, a whisper, here long enough to awaken me, gone too soon to anchor anything real.

Both were real, both were true,

but real is not equal. Love must hold the same weight

on both sides of the bridge,

or the crossing breaks beneath your feet.

They call it “unequally yoked,”

this sacred mismatch.. not of heart but of courage.

For one was water, the tide that retreats when the shore asks too much.

And the other air the steady horizon. Water could not bear to meet.

Still I hold his tide within me, not to drown, but to remember

the one season when the breeze and the storm called each other home.