The Light Thru the Olive Trees

The Light Thru the Olive Trees

We have years between us,
and they are filled—
with laughter that healed,
with love that lingered,
with heartbreak that taught us
how to keep breathing.

And you, my friend,
have carried a loss
only a mother can hold—
a holy kind of grief
no words can measure.

In the weaving of our years
I found your sparkle—
your strange, off humor,
your need to walk through glass.

But time changed us,
as it often does.
And with gentler eyes,
I see you cannot meet me
where I once believed—
so convincingly—
we could stand together.

Do I feel a loss?
Yes—
not because it meant little,
but because it meant so much.

Sometimes two souls
walk side by side
for a season of the path,
and then the road forks—
ever so slightly—
until time reveals
its destination.

But some friendships
were never meant to be anchors—
they were meant to be lanterns:
a light for a stretch of road,
a warmth in the night.

You cannot sit still—
as if stillness might invite the dark.
And my patience wore thin
because I wanted you
to stay long enough
to name what hurts.

But I need to take you
as you come.

And I can still honor myself.
I can still seek what I need.
I can still choose—
without closing my heart.

So if I step back,
let it not be from lack of love—
let it be from reverence
for what is true.

If my role in your life is changing,
let it change with grace.
If it is ending,
let it end softly—
like a tide returning to sea.

I place this
in the hands of the universe.
I was given a friendship—
for a time.

And I humbly accept
whatever it offers next,
for it is my honor
to do so.