i was never an early riser but insomnia means that i’ve heard the birds sing every morning

I wish i could remember those moments in between Not my dreams With a head like mine who would But those moments of dark Between being asleep and waking up

I want to hold that silence close Use it to guide my emotions in the day I want to remind myself That there is nothing to fear in the dark It’s what brings us bliss

That at the end of the day Everything mattered Every time we held back Every word we left unsaid Every path we didn’t take It mattered It spoke against us in the judgement More than the thing we did

Luke never understood how he had gotten a job that essentially was catching teenagers make out every day and shooing them off the stairwell. He needed the extra cash sure, he also needed some sanity and this was getting old and tired! All he wanted was one of these stupid grad schools to accept him so he could do his PhD and become a professor and tell everyone this funny story about how his skinny ass had once worked in security.

And there you had it. Two dudes this time. He could finish the episode of the Witcher and then go chase them down. At least that way they’d all be happy.

I loved him, which is why I gave him a clean death.

You see, they like to tell you stories in which loves wins out; but only a certain type of love can win. The love between a man and a woman where she loses more than he does to end the war and win unite the kingdoms; after all, he gets to be king.

But there are other forms of love; love for my mother who has ruled twenty years, love for my soldiers who will be butchered or sidelined when they take power, love for the people who fight to protect their families and honour. Am I meant to spit on that because I love f*****g this man? I don’t know if I will in ten years. I don’t know how many mistresses he’ll keep or how he’ll change; its easy for him to swear loyalty now knowing that he will lose nothing later.

So I did it; the thing that makes Aphrodite hate me and the people worship me. I asked him to lure his family into the great cathedral so that we could tell them we loved each other together. I lured mine in to, but I also had archers put inside the cathedral. Once our families entered we did declare our love. I looked him in the eyes as I told him I loved him; I do. I always will. That was the symbol for the archers; we had them suspended from the ceiling, painted to blend in. They dropped down and shot arrows at everyone not dressed in our royal colours. I held him and my mother as they bled out.

There are things that need to be seen, or felt, before you really understand them; the warmth from the body of a lover, the freshness of a jasmine candle, or the cold from the bathroom floor at 2 am when you’re desperately trying to hold it together to be coherent the next day in an online interview.

She had wondered if places were meant to be quite so lifeless; the plants seemed to resent their own existence there. Someone had said murder was the only interesting thing to do in this town and she had really wondered if she wandered into an real life Riverdale and should call it quits on the whole adventure and run away. The truth was also this, she found the town arid. She had never liked staring at nature unless it was with a friend or for a meditation; the museum seemed to be fixated on the number of incredibly messed up things the place had gone through, and given that this was the Bible Belt and she was clearly not from here she had been preached to a few times which got old, fast.

Of course, motels have never been known for their homey atmosphere, but this one was the subject of a Netflix show which meant it shouldn’t have been that awful. Given that this was Seher’s attempt to be impulsive (at 3:24 am), she should have expected that it was a Netflix documentary series on murder and that the pool was a popular place to die a questionable death. Arooj, with her boundless capacity for hope, and concern that her friend would go the same way, had encouraged her to see that it was a really interesting spin by the motels social media manager. Aimun and Mariam had told her to not attempt a seance or do a tarot card reading. Sara and Amir had very clearly stated that she should just come home.

I do not know where I’d like to be next year Ten seems incomprehensibly far away I didn’t want to be hear ten years ago, And yet your laughter as i say something ridiculously shameless Fills me with joy that makes the poets make sense That makes me understand how powerful skin on skin can be.

In ten years I’d like to not have the resentments of my family I would like to have put the ghosts to rest My mothers voice should not haunt me Her actions do not cause me to fear what I’ll do to my own In ten years I would like to have you with me, a dog, and bills. I want a house where our friends find warmth and no one can fill poison.

I want a terrace to walk on, A room full of books; a library is far too much. A subscription to every streaming service And you.

Here of Troy got old, as all of us do. Paris a bit slimy, as most versions seem to have gotten right. Cassandra reminds me of my mother, and i understand why no one listens to her because I don’t trust my mother either. Hecuba and Priam are just waiting for things to fall apart, hoping that their children are not useless bloody idiots (spoiler alert: most of them are). Hector and Andromache are, the historians got that right, the most reasonable people in that palace; so obviously no ones listens to them.

I would like to say Paris wasn’t completely shameless, but when he pinched my ass right as his wife’s back was turned I really hoped Menelaus skewered the guy, even though he was a brute and a bore (a phrase I’m borrowing from a much better writer, if only I could remember who). Achilles was very flamboyantly out there though, which is why I’m confused as to who decided to believe that he and Patroclus were just “cousins” or “good friends.” Nestor and Odysseus were bound by the common desire to really want to go home; the latter admits it more easily, but the former manages to complain so much that we all want to send him there. Antilochus is hot though, and actually good friends with Achilles.

I do worry though, how we do the same things here. We like to pretend that things will be fine, but for most people, things have entirely fallen apart. It’s crowded, loud all the time, and the priests are growing fat with offerings. There is an alter every few streets managed by a different priest who reports to a different god claiming that this is the right way to save the city and to get rid of hunger.

No, the hunger will not end anytime soon, the war will take them all.

It’s the day Hector dies that they realise that. They wish they had sent her back, damn all the rules about hospitality. The truth is this, Priam was a selfish old man. Breaking the laws around of hospitality would have only affected him, and he could have been purified; given his health he could have done it. He chose not to, and that day he cursed his own city; doomed it to its death. It’s the reason why Hecuba despises him, why he tries to imprison Cassandra from time to time, why he doesn’t rebuke Paris; he recognises the selfishness; Paris is his so after all.

You see, the day he let the horse in, he knew the Greeks weren’t gone. He knew this was part of their plan and he didn’t want to drag it on any longer. He knew he would be killed, and he also knew what would befall the others. He knew his grandson would be killed, even if he did not know how, he knew what would happen to his wives and daughters and every other man, woman, and child in that God forsaken city.

He had known Calchas growing up, he knew that the slimy priest had a gift, and made sure he was never on the losing side.

I love you. I don’t think I can ever stop loving you. But the truth is you’re not good for me, not good for my heart, my health, my bank account. I can’t keep sneaking you in and hiding you under my bed and waiting for the others to go to sleep to start my night.

I can’t do this.

You give me joy, I’m a fair woman, I’ll admit as much. But you also take it away from me. I’ve been crying, not been able to fit in my clothes and when I turned to you, you just made it worse. Made me feel worse after. Made me feel like I had nothing going for myself and that the only thing that I was defined by was my dwindling bank balance and clothes supply.

I don’t know who gave you the right?

I was there that day. The others didn’t want to see you around. There are better things in life. My friends think I’m crazy; they keep reminding me that your not all I have. I have the sun and the sky and them. I have water and tea to drink, food to eat, I have someone who loves me. Who are you to try to take from me all the time?

You think I can’t make better for myself? I’m a grown woman, not a man child who needs to order out all the time. I take care of myself. I take out the trash. And this time, its you. I’m taking you out.

I will never call again. I will never come here again. I don’t care how much you want me back. This is done.

“Ma’am, you placed this order…”

“Mark my words; this is the last time I get cookies.”

You can hear me typing, It’s a common complaint, one that I’ve heard for years on end. I wish the reason was more exciting; I just love the sound.

Your a hairs breath from putting me on mute, Someone will call you soon, make demands of your time, While I sit there in silence, happily ignoring every chime, from someone who think I have nothing else to do.

This does get a bit much, You’ve left me on hold for an hour, And while I don’t mean to have your company as a crutch, The truth is I miss those moments.

They remind me of the library, the over powering warmth of the heaters, But now I’m warm hoping that you can understand that I don’t to be here and you’re the only thing that keeps me from running away.