You left me here, alone. And here I am, waiting for you.
I shouldn't be here like this, but it was not my choice. You are just a man, with his own abilities and his own name and his own sons and wife to leave behind. The gods give you what you are due here, and within theconfines of what I deserve, I will wait.
The men surround me now, and with all of the attention I receive, even my own son suffocates me now: He looks and acts just like you, you know, with his wild hair and flash-eyes and constant shadow of a jawline that makes him appear world-weary even though he knows nothing. The men surround me with their affections and I supplicate them with lies. They know I speak shadow-truths, because the dark hope that you will set foot on my floor again is the only thing that causes hesitation.
They come to me in darkness, while all the servants are away, while our son is asleep, and they stand by the door, waiting for the sound of my breath as the invitation. They come to me, and they're so young, almost as young as our son, but each and every one of them knows my body, about the solid shadows bodies become in the dark, right before the Dawn rises rosy-fingered.
Each and every one of them knows my body like you know the sea, love, and they chart the course with scars: Little pinpricks that mark the dark places where your memory is waiting. It is only a matter of time before I will be accustomed to their skin, as they are accustomed to my tender lies, as I am accustomed to your absence.
I am weaving our story, love. I thread our lives through memories, through the very fabric of time. I am waiting for your return, and so I must destroy the thread, and the hopes of my suitors, and start anew with my story, dark like our son's hair.
You left me here, love. The sea lured you, and she is a harsher mistress than you could ever imagine. I know that. She commands real love from you. Poseidon will not wait-- he takes his offerings any way he can.
I don't know what you were looking for. Our son tried to explain it to me, but the frustration swallows him. All of these men in the house, and he is the only one left to sort them out as they feast on all you left behind-- my body the prize.
Who will remember me when I'm gone? Our son may have your features, but he has my face-- the Suitors will remember me forever, even when they pine over my ghost. When you die-- for I know you can't be dead yet, haunting the halls of my mind-- your adventures will bear your mark into time, while no-one will know anything of me but my lonliness. No-one will ever know the pain of strangers as they lie on top of you while you strain to remember what your body felt like, how you smelled, how warm your breath was.
I saw the sea today. She was gray; she was waiting. But she said nothing to me. We all come from the water, but only few of us truly understand it. There are no signs in the waves anymore.
I wanted to see your ship rise over the horizon, but Hermes' winds only swept the clouds through, leaving nothing behind. I will stand here, as the sun passes and the moon slips through the sky, while I am touched by scarring hands, hands that want to hurt you and hurt our son because he hates them all. He hates that you are gone and that your name will live past him: The price of immortality left in between the blades of the Fates. My fate lies in your hands, love. I wait to feel them on my skin once again.