Madeline Miller

Name one hero who was happy.”

“I can’t.”

“I know. They never let you be famous and happy.”

Overhead the constellations dip and wheel. My divinity shines in me like the last rays of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.

All my life I have been moving forward, and now I am here. I have a mortal’s voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink.

fingered their metal,

“Are you sorry?” The words were quickly out of him, a single breath.

“I am not,” I said.

“I am not either.”

I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.

Disapproval had always burrowed deep in me;

“Name one hero who was happy.”

“You can’t.” He was sitting up now, leaning forward.

“I can’t.”

“I know. They never let you be famous and happy.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

“Tell me.” I loved it when he was like this.

“I’m going to be the first.” He took my palm and held it to his. “Swear it.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the reason. Swear it.”

We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.