That’s what they said your heart weighs.
The Fates, withered now: so few believe in them they get caught in the shifting sands of faith and story.
Weighed your still heart: kept beating too long, I think.
I hope they found it lighter, placed on that pewter scale.
I hope that last cryptic message gave you the peace you needed and that you took a clean slate with you for them to write your eternity upon.
Lighter than a feather, your still heart: soft, and pale in some distant gloom: some anemic sunset.
I forgive you your trespasses, if that’s what you needed.
I forgive you your storms and your absence and your withdrawal from anything that felt like connection: it was all too sharp and you knew every edge of that thin blade.
I’m glad your heart is still, now. And your soul with it. I am glad you don’t suffer anymore: I know you wonder and let me reassure you, it’s worth the expense. The grief is heavy, but it does get better with time. The darkness you carried might never have.
