sunday evening.
they awoke to the sound of her voice. her touch. her love.
they awoke to her memory , burning into them.
to each of their lovers, they would ask; “how do you see me?”
and each would reply differently.
“kind, sincere. you’ve never lied.”
“you have gorgeous green eyes — filled with all the wisdom in the world.”
“you’re really funny ! !”
when their partners would break it off, they asked, “why?”
“i thought you were honest.”
“your eyes show no wisdom after all; only envy."
“it’s not you, it’s me.”
for a deed they didn't remember committing, this was their punishment.
they were the incarnation of beauty.
but beauty is in the eye of the beholder ; and so each person saw them differently.
a young woman with golden hair.
a man with worn hands and a genuine smile.
and just as they were beautiful, they were perfectly crafted.
they spoke all the right words ,
and they knew all the right tunes.
but perfection doesn’t last. in the days spent with them, their cracks and marks would begin to show. subtle at first, soon impossible to ignore. in the eyes of their lover, their flaws consumed them,
and they were alone again.
but then they met her, and they fell madly in love. one day, he asked, “how do you see me?”
she hesitated to answer. they didn’t know why until she finally spoke.
“you aren’t like anyone i’ve ever met before. you’d dare to fall in love with me twice.”
they didn’t respond that day — they’d never known her. she had all the familiarity of the stars, the sea, the sun, but they were certain they had never met her. but time went on, and they began to feel that they’d known each other for an eternity. to them, she was the stars, the sea, the sun. she was everything. and they realized, one day, that they were her everything.
so made it boundlessly more painful when she waved goodbye.
she told them they reminded her of the rain. gentle, soft spoken, a little sad. she told them she loved the rain, and she would always, always love t h e m.
she loved their sincerity, and the poorly timed jokes ,
and that they never stopped fidgeting or that sometimes they just needed silence.
she loved that they admired her when they thought she was distracted ,
and she loved that they perpetually had the messiest bedhead.
they’d argued. they’d wept. they realized too late that she was right ;
this was for the best.
because she was the goddess they dreamt about.
the goddess who lost her wings for them, bound to earth ,
living forever a loveless life,
because she couldn’t be with them. they would be pulled apart, by the gods if not by their mortality. they would grow old, while she remained young. she’d find them in every lifetime if she could, but fate has other plans.
she told them to find another to love. if not in this life, then the next.
curses aren’t all powerful — “you’ll find someone, one day.”
sunday evening.
they awoke to a boy — a lover anew — laying beside them ,
wordlessly brushing away their tears.
they asked, “how do you see me?”
— and he saw them. he replied,
“you have the messiest bedhead.”