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i. absence hope makes the heart grow fonder.
and so she waits.
it is a new sensation, this waiting. before, she had only mourned, wept silently in the shadows of her garden, inquired politely with eyes dry, taught herself to forget. before, she had convinced herself that she was content.
he had blazed across her lonely paradise, setting fire to the oases and flooding the deserts, and she had felt so many emotions at once she had feared she would explode. he is blazing somewhere else now, and she is not content.
hope is a strange bird, she thinks, once she allows it to nest in her heart. she cannot feed it with birdseed, or with grain, or even with sugar. she can only feed it with tiny pieces of her soul. but it sings so beautifully, the sacrifice is worthy.
she is determined not to forget the shape of his smile.
ii. it is better worse to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
she dreams.
she dreams that he sails back to her island, bruised and bloody but so alive, grinning in the sort of triumph that comes with invincibility. he takes her hand and tells her that the gods have forgiven her and the world is free. she steps out of paradise and into something better.
she dreams that he collapses on her beach, pale and shaking, all of his restless energy not enough to keep the beasts that devour him at bay. he takes her hand and tells her that he kept his promise and she shouldn’t cry, he really isn’t worth it. she crumbles.
she spends days singing his name over and over until the melody rings in her ears, and days screaming at the skies that it simply is not fair. she spends days tracing his face in the sands of the beach, and days building a hundred fires, then stomping them out with her bare feet, pretending they are him. she spends days recreating his scent so that she can press her nose into it as she goes to sleep, and days smashing every little thing that even remotely reminds her of him.
she has never felt this much like a fifteen-year-old girl before, and she hates it. hates him.
couldn’t hate him, not for a second.
iii. love only exists in fairy tales real life.
the gods have forgotten her, and there are times she wishes she could forget herself.
in another life, they could be lab partners in a high school science class, arguing about formulas until they realized that they are the perfect team. they could be travelers who sit next to each other on the train, cause other nearby passengers to ask one of them to please move, and share a cab together on the way home. they could be a gardener and a mechanic who share the same city block for twenty years before they realize the simplicity of their fate.
she hates being immortal, because she remembers everything and accomplishes nothing, except bring herself more pain. he is no doubt saving the world, and she is writing stories in her head. she can’t even face herself in the mirror sometimes.
she resents the gods for trapping her here, for sending him away where she cannot follow. he is a hero, and she is only the guardian of paradise. she is immortal, but he is the lucky one.
she is trapped in a prison of melody and starlight.
iv. grab her hand and whisper, run stride.
paradise is dying.
the flowers are wilting, the streams are drying up, the birds are in mass exodus. she should weep to see her home slowly fading away, but she cannot find the space in her heart. she can only find the prayer (to any god still listening) that the process be as swift as possible.
and then, one day, she decides, good enough.
no raft comes for her, but that’s no surprise. she always knew that she would need to build her own. she cuts down the trees herself, and lashes them together with strips of cloth from the dresses she no longer needs. the raft is no luxury liner, but it is her throne.
she has come to realize that true royalty is not a bloodline, but a state of mind. she is a queen because she believes so.
she wants to find him, but she needs to get out – would need to get out, even if she had never met him.
she steps onto the raft at dawn, back straight, shoulders up. she does not run – she strides.
v. love conquers all enough.
she watches him, from the top of the hill.
he is discussing the final battle with his friends, describing complicated plans with exaggerated gestures. he looks older – a little taller, with a harder edge to his face and stubble grazing his chin. he looks ready.
she cares nothing for oaths or prophecies. rules are irrelevant and fates can be changed. he taught her that.
any moment now, he will see her, and he will run to her, and they will press their foreheads together, and he will make a sarcastic comment that does nothing to hide his emotions, and she will pretend to be annoyed, but she will laugh. any moment now.
and so she waits.