Letter From a Modern-Day Persephone to Hades, During Spring

 

 

            There are lies I could tell you. Lies that would seem reasonable, easy to consume. Call it emotional fast food – empty calories that leave you crashing later on. Empty promises that are a cold comfort. Temporary fixes for ever-present things. These lies would patch you up, not heal you. The bullet hole covered by a band-aid. The hurt smothered by rum. The love shoved under the rug, in the corner – down, down, down until you swear you don’t need it.

            How many years have you been longing, wanting, feeling empty? How many years have you been unsmiling, absent, and feeling like there’s nothing left? Worse: you’ve lived through it standing still. Your courage is an in-drawn breath. You’ve got to exhale to make it matter. You’ve got to let go to make it count. You’ve got to drag out the truth as dirty as you know it. Pretty truths, darling, are nothing more than fancy lies. Singular dimensions that cast long shadows.

            There are lies I could tell you – things I know you’d want to hear. Things that would release you under the illusion that this is nothing more than a fleeting heartbeat. Oh, yes, I’ll be alright. No, I’m not crying. No, I’m not breaking apart. No, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. This is just what I look like when I’m smiling – don’t mind the unmet eyes and shaky hands. Don’t mind the lack of sleep. Don’t mind the fact that I can’t make it through a minute without missing you.

            The truth is, no matter what happens, I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew what I wanted when I looked at you. I knew what I was facing, knew the consequences from the marrow of my bones. No one tastes fruit by accident. Forbidden is just another word for untouched. And I want to be touched. I want to feel your hands.

            My secret is this: when we are apart, my heart is in winter. There’s no summer in the sky for me. I am borne of waiting, counting the days until I’m back where I’ve chosen to be. My obligations elsewhere are only that: debts. A thing owed and owing. Nothing more, nothing less.

            I have given no fire to man, yet I suffer. Instead of my liver, my heart is torn out – and torn out and torn out. Have you ever seen me flinch? Have I ever worried when I’ve seen your face? Have I not given you every possibility I could offer? And all I ask of you is this: wait. Wait for me. I will come back. You’ll see.

            My love, I am no small girl. There is no weakness in me, only love. I will not tell you lies. I will not tell you to let me go. Instead, I will remind you that my heart is like a pomegranate. It will feed you. It will keep you. It does not matter if you are far or near. Love is not simple, not easily explained. But, my darling, you must trust it. There is no love that can live in the shadow of fear. Leave the dark to underworld. Do not look back toward what might disappear.

            Tomorrow is ours.

            Your Queen