Four days later and I am not as wise as I had believed myself originally to be. I yearn for him, with my poor bittersweet heart, to the point where it takes everything in me not to beg for him back. I think that my afterlife is not complete without him in it, while I know that is not the case, that I am whole all on my own. I miss running my hair through his soft curls, holding tight to his body, squeezing the muscles between my fingers, and never wanting to let go. I miss the songs the gods sang for him and the way he posed as they painted, sunlight embracing him. It makes me angry, too. He didn't deserve any of it.
Poems will be written about him, about his beauty, about his tragedy; but what about mine? I was beautiful and tragic too. The gods praised only him, so he holds the more interesting story. They cursed him, etching his name into history with their enchantments. He will revel in the fact that I am a "nobody" without him. However, I think I would rather not be famous at all than be remembered as an abuser and a never-satisfied leech.
Time is a cruel mistress.
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AMEINIAS
Short StorySo often we hear of what befell Narcissus, of how he was condemned to forever gaze upon his own reflection, doomed to wither away. Never do we hear of how he abused those around him, unrelenting and unaware. While Echo may not speak of it, Ameinias...
