Heaven Sent
written by: Agustina Sapia
The end of you came in parts, but I only linger on the last one.
That night, clear of winds and unfortunate rains, when you knocked upon my yearning door, looking for answers I couldn’t give you.
Glorious, tall, you held a black cat in your gloved hands and nothing more.
Your hair shone white and silver despite your 20-something years.
And with that serious look of yours, the one you wore ever since the tragedy, you stared at me, aware you did something I could not predict.
Inside, the lights shone artificial, but still warm, so I invited you in, offered you a cup of tea. Black, chamomile, any you would like, for I had all your favorites. By that point, you had been in my life for over a year, and you spent half of it there, in my house.
But you said no, that you had places to go. That you might come back, later, maybe, you didn’t know, it wasn’t up to you, not really.
As the clock struck a new hour, the air grew stagnant between us. But you didn’t cross the lingering threshold. After all, how could you?
So, instead, you turned around and left me. Let me leave you. For you had cities to see.
And I returned to my bedroom of high ceilings, where I sat over the old quilt, rough after too many washes, and pictured you. Here, there, everywhere.
I heard the silence, pressed replay. Watched you run around the place, laughing, crying, begging, breaking your oh, so precious hands, which you once used to create.
I cried for you then, but I rarely do now.
Still, I sometimes wonder if you saw it: the story that broke the silence. The one that cursed your name and what you did and reported on how many will forever hate you.
Yet don’t worry, I will not. For they could never know you.
- Heaven Sent - May 31, 2025
