I am a goddess. So is she, she and she. I would like to be as Persephone was. Needed for all seasons. Valued and loved. Longed for in my absences. The very thought leaching warmth from you that only my return can bring back.
I think maybe I am mistaken for Hera, to be held at a distance and taken for granted. That I will endure anything for the sake of the fallacy you call love. Maybe once when I was young and foolish. Filled with a different kind of hope.
But that is not who Hera was, who Persephone was, who I am. I am as eternal as the goddesses that came before. But I am my own. There are haunting galaxies in my eyes, hard fought for love written in my bones, and a soul that is a vast flame in my body.
I shelter these things close. For very few have been able to survive even a hint of them. I treasure those that have. Will cherish them long past my youth. I wait for the one that joyously accepts all the growing parts of me.
I cannot be as Persephone or even Hera was. But I can learn from them. As I learn from others. I am a goddess. So is she, she and she.