Should I regret we never met
before, when we were young enough 
to think first love lasts forever?

Would it have been more 
romantic then, before grey hairs, 
wrinkled skin, the sharp pain

in arthritic shoulders and weakened
knees, making love now actually
an aging athlete workout,

though still a cosmic symphony, 
transcendental, existential 
proof of belonging, being wanted.

No. I do not think so. I do not regret 
the years, they were not wasted or misspent, 
for every torn heartstring was a road

and every tear an oasis, every sad 
love song a postcard from the place
toward which we traveled, the journey’s

end that is the beginning, a place
of belonging, infinitely more precious 
than we ever could have understood

back then, when we had never met,
when we were young and didn’t know
that love waits patiently forever.

©2023marthahurwitz