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So much you can learn about yourself when ur staying alone.

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by emilie.hofferber

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What the Gods Envy

They say the gods carved eternal constellations into the void to remember their lovers. I don't need myths when I have memories—of the way your eyes reflected the moonlight, when your voice softened the foggy noise around me, and when the stars overheard our laughter and kept it in their glow.

They say the gods end winter when Persephone, queen of the underworld, walks the earth again. But I've seen how my dreams blossom when you are with me, as if the world remembered to be more gentle just by your presence. You leave with footprints in my dreams and arrive with a smile so sweet as honey.

They say the gods envy us mortals because time gives our lives meaning and purpose. It’s nothing sacred, nothing mythic—it is real within you. Nothing feels as genuine as your soft touch on my beating chest, nothing so peaceful as the way you rest your thoughts on my comforting shoulder. You fill emptiness with my favorite purple-golden hue, and you inspire meaning in me.

I used to wait for the sun to return to my life. I realized I just had to look into your eyes.

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What the sky forgot, the sea tried to keep

The dark sea beneath me, its harsh waves and succumbing currents longing for me. I look into the purple-golden sky, the place I called home, in all its distant, fading glory.

I am stuck between the sea and the sky, falling until this endless pit finally devours me and erases every memory I once carved into beautiful, shimmering constellations. Staring at those stars blinds me with visions of the past, releasing a dull echo of familiar voices—numbing me into believing if I just tighten my grasp, everything will stay and comfort me as I fall into the abyss.

But even in the glow, the cold finds me. Tracing my spine like an intimate, awakening the anxiety I tried to forget.

It reaches out for me, stretching its long arms, touching me with a velvet-smooth grace. Knowing the sea tries to be gentle in its cruelty, I don’t want to call this place home. I wanted it all to stay forever, but change feels like my forever now.

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Vae Victis

I should stand here in white and gold, but all I see is red. My chest piece is stained with blood, my sigil still stands proud above my breast. I never held my helmet with such ease while the laurel wreath sits heavy on my head. Staring at the body in front of me, my men storming the lush courtyard, I try to grasp reality.

He tried to warn me once. When this plan was nothing more than a wasteful idea, an unfinished thought. “This is not who you are, brother,” he told me, a fearful crack in his voice. Maybe I should’ve listened, but knowing that this is for the greater good, I didn’t. I knew he wouldn’t understand. I laughed at him, told him he was unworthy of a centurion.

Now I stand above him, his blood slowly soaking into the white marble, tainting the fruitful trees.

I see my reflection in his blood, and for the first time, I don’t recognize myself. I refuse to believe that time took the man I once was into darkness, that corruption disguised as ambition brought me here. Forced by the gods to see my most loyal centurion—my brother—taking his last breath, instills me with rage.

But why? Is this an ill-fitted coup to destroy me, or are the gods mocking me with lustful cruelty? I need to blame someone. I want to raise my sword and make this bloodshed mean something. Whoever is trying to punish me won’t succeed because I know what it takes. I know what it takes to destroy me because.. I did it for too long.

I sacrificed myself for something that has no worth in life. Now I wonder if this is my own doing, my own tragic betrayal. My brother’s voice echoes in my head, whispering of a past I cannot return to. And yet, I reach for it. Even as it slips through my fingers.

He exhales, slow and steady, lifting the distinguished helmet. His lips graze the cold bronze before he places it down beside his brother’s body. He turns around to his men. His voice is quiet, but unshaken.

‘Vae victis.’

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Never Mine

There’s a room in my mind where walls are made out of air, ceilings supported by Greek pillars, where golden sunlight illuminates the marbled floor, and you can hear the echoed past of poets and painters.

It’s peaceful here, like a place you don’t want to escape from. A place that gives you serenity and takes the harsh burdens of reality. Surrounded by lush gardens, this temple of wisdom is my distraction.

I know every little detail, from the beautiful sight of that orange tree, over every crack in these white pillars, to the long veils floating like they’re one with the wind. But with every minute I stay here, the golden light fades away, the marbled halls will blur. In all its magnificence, it is so fragile that I have to stay away so it can persevere.

I thought that if I stood still enough, time wouldn’t touch this place, the serenity of it. But now I wonder, is it an echo of a peaceful past long lost to time, or is it supposed to remind me of what not to pursue?

I lie and tell myself I’m only here to remember, but what if I’m the one ruling this golden temple to be in darkness.