Monday Made Me Do It

I waited 15 years—
15 seasons of dreaming,
of tracing your contours
on paper and memory,
till you became more than a place—
you became a promise.

And when I arrived,
you met me like an old friend
at the edge of the map,
your arms wide with rivers,
your skies painted in prayers.

Kravice fell before me—
not water, but wonder,
a cascade so surreal
it could’ve been born
from a Chinese brushstroke,
each veil of mist a silent verse
suspended between heaven and earth.

I crossed the Stari Most
as if entering a temple,
each footstep slowed
by the weight of stories—
resilience carved in stone,
sorrow folded into arches
now lit with hope.

In Baščaršija,
I did not wander – I returned.
The scent of coffee and copper
wrapped around me
like a familiar shawl.
I knew those streets.
Not in this life, perhaps,
but certainly in one
where I once called Sarajevo home.

The people…
they smiled not with politeness,
but with recognition.
As if they, too,
had been waiting for me to arrive—
a misplaced puzzle piece
finally finding its place
among mountains, minarets,
and the slow poetry of the land.

Six days passed
like a single exhale.
Not enough–never enough—
to gather the threads
of all that I felt.
But I left with a heart fuller
than it had ever been.

And I will return.
Not to revisit—
but to continue
the love letter
we began
the moment
I first whispered
your name.