Love is something that embodies your soul.
Love is shared between soulmates in every form.
Love is both beautiful and tragic.
Love is everyone’s Achilles heel.
On the rocky shores of Phthia, a city in Thessaly, lies Achilles. Long blond hair littered with sediment from the sand beneath his feet, along with bruised skin from days of training looks over to Patroculs. Patroclus with his short coarse black hair and sunburnt skin looks back.
“Name one hero who was happy,” Achilles breathed out the words as if the sentence was lifted from his lungs. Patroclus thought for what seemed like hours as he rattled through every possible Greek hero the legends and muses sang of. But each and every tale he could conjure into his mind only ended in tragedy.
“I can't”, Patroclus said, looking back at the horizon.
“Yeah you can’t. They never let the heroes be famous and happy, but I've got a secret,” Achilles shifted to where his entire body was facing Patroclus, a fiery passion blazing behind his eyes.
“Tell me,” Patroclus lightly demanded, mimicking Achilles’ movement so they were face to face.
“I’m going to be the first,” All too happy, he grabbed onto Patroclus’ hand and held it to his chest, “Swear it”.
“Why do I have to swear it?”
“Because you're the reason, now swear it.”
“I swear it,” Patroclus whispered, the words floating into the air and setting a prophecy as good as one from the Fates.
“I swear it,” Achilles whispered back, his promise washing out into the warm waves of that very beach.
The two wouldn’t get to keep their promises as they were killed a decade later in the Trojan war. Later burned together in ash.
Stories of love always end one way or another.
Either in paradise or in misery.
Struck by cupid's arrow or poison darts.
For love is a complex beast and it sways the narrative.
How will any form of love sway your story?
Love is shared between soulmates in every form.
Love is both beautiful and tragic.
Love is everyone’s Achilles heel.
On the rocky shores of Phthia, a city in Thessaly, lies Achilles. Long blond hair littered with sediment from the sand beneath his feet, along with bruised skin from days of training looks over to Patroculs. Patroclus with his short coarse black hair and sunburnt skin looks back.
“Name one hero who was happy,” Achilles breathed out the words as if the sentence was lifted from his lungs. Patroclus thought for what seemed like hours as he rattled through every possible Greek hero the legends and muses sang of. But each and every tale he could conjure into his mind only ended in tragedy.
“I can't”, Patroclus said, looking back at the horizon.
“Yeah you can’t. They never let the heroes be famous and happy, but I've got a secret,” Achilles shifted to where his entire body was facing Patroclus, a fiery passion blazing behind his eyes.
“Tell me,” Patroclus lightly demanded, mimicking Achilles’ movement so they were face to face.
“I’m going to be the first,” All too happy, he grabbed onto Patroclus’ hand and held it to his chest, “Swear it”.
“Why do I have to swear it?”
“Because you're the reason, now swear it.”
“I swear it,” Patroclus whispered, the words floating into the air and setting a prophecy as good as one from the Fates.
“I swear it,” Achilles whispered back, his promise washing out into the warm waves of that very beach.
The two wouldn’t get to keep their promises as they were killed a decade later in the Trojan war. Later burned together in ash.
Stories of love always end one way or another.
Either in paradise or in misery.
Struck by cupid's arrow or poison darts.
For love is a complex beast and it sways the narrative.
How will any form of love sway your story?
