I was raised in a religious family, and there’s this part of a Bible story that has stayed with me over the years.

The angels or high spirits, were instructed not to fall in love with humans. But I wonder… maybe they were forbidden not because it’s wrong, but because it’s too tender, too tragic.

Because to love someone who must die, again and again, is a kind of eternal grief.

Longevity without love is not a gift, it’s a sentence.

Loving, even when you know it must end.

Some stories say spirits eventually fade—not from punishment, but from longing. They outlive memories. They grow weary of watching those they once loved vanish across generations. And when the threads that tether them to this world are gone, so is their reason to stay.

And Yet, the Sadness Is Also Beautiful. Because it means love matters. Because it means you matter. Even to something eternal.

Immortality without connection is just emptiness in disguise.

So maybe the instruction not to love humans isn’t punishment. Maybe it’s protection. Not from humans… But from the weight of eternity with a broken heart. So here’s a little poem for whoever you are, spirit, soul, memory, who still chooses to love and remember, even when the one you love is long gone.

To the Spirits Who Loved Us

They told you not to love us,

too brief, too fragile, too soon gone.

But still, you saw our flickering hearts

and leaned in anyway.

You knew the price.

You paid it softly.

You watched us grow old

while you remained still.

You remembered every laugh,

every tear,

long after we had turned to dust

and scattered with the wind.

And still,

you stayed.

Even when our names faded

from family trees,

when our children forgot

the warmth you gave,

when the world spun forward

without your hands in it.

You held the memory like a flame in your chest.

Not for glory.

Not for return.

But because you loved us once,

and you could not unlove us.

Now we walk past you, unaware—

new faces, new lives—

and you wonder

if you will ever be seen again

by the eyes that once lit your eternity.

To you who chose

the ache of mortality over the safety of detachment, I see you.

We see you.

May your waiting never be empty.

May the threads of your love

find their way back

in every lifetime,

every whisper of wind

through the leaves

where you still watch

and still hope.