AlAnoud Writes

If one day
you find yourself stopping
for no reason at all,

and a familiar warmth
settles softly on your shoulder,

don’t ask whose hands it was.

Some things return to us
without footsteps,
without names.

I have buried
every unspoken word
beneath a tree
that has never forgotten spring.

When its branches bloom,
they will not carry flowers.

They will carry
every kindness
we almost gave,
every goodbye
we could never finish.

The wind will gather them gently,
and the sky,
knowing nothing of our story,
will scatter them
across someone else’s lonely afternoon.

Perhaps that is how
love survives ..
not by remaining,
but by becoming
something the world mistakes
for a breeze,
a ray of sunlight,
or the sudden feeling
that everything,
for just one quiet moment,
will be alright.