Even If It Was Never Holy Poem by Za7ra Sulaiman

Even If It Was Never Holy

We were reckless,
yes—
to believe love alone
could bridge oceans
and city skylines.
You asked if I remembered
promising to die for you.
I do.
Just as I remember
booking flights
like prayers,
offered at the altar
of what could be.

But now,
you won't meet my eyes.
You stare out windows
like I'm a map you folded wrong—
a city once beloved,
now reduced
to gray streets and noise.
Still,
I am New York.
And I light up
when you say my name.

They warned us,
about the moments
when belief dries out
and the road ahead
offers only fog.
About the danger
of worshiping
with blind faith.

Still,
we knelt.
We worshiped.
Your mouth—
a gospel I trusted
even when the sermon
was broken.
Even if your love
was a false god,
I knelt anyway.
I offered my body
like scripture.
You took communion
at my hips.

I know heaven exists.
I've touched it
in your arms.
Hell, too—
it whispers through
our arguments.
But we always
build churches
out of apologies,
pour wine over wounds,
call it forgiveness.

Sometimes
I become the storm—
daring you to walk out
just so I can feel
the weight of your return.
You become
the West Village,
still charming,
still complicated,
still you.

They warned us
about gods that falter.
About love
that doesn't save.
But even now—
with faith unraveling—
I'd still kneel
at the feet
of what we made.

Even if
it was never holy.
Even if
it was never real.
I'd still
worship this love.