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“You can’t love a guy like me,” I had said with a smirk over my lips and my thumb pointing towards me, maybe even behind me towards my cabin;
It is both expected and tragic that a daughter of Aphrodite would fall for a son of Hephaestus;
After all, Aphrodite isn’t exactly the most faithful of wives;
And Hephaestus isn’t the most charming of husbands.
“It’s funny that you think that you can say who I love,” you had said with both hands around my bicep, reminding me that while I worked hard to get these muscles, it wasn’t the kind of work out that you’d giggle at while walking by twice;
I looked at your lips waiting to see what truth would be revealed;
Our faces often share the truth behind our lies;
I didn’t see one – and that was scarier than anything else.
“I don’t think my father would approve,” I had joked, thinking that it would make a difference and caution you from repeating out parents’ mistakes;
But you pushed one hand higher until your thumb was almost tickling my armpit;
Then you brushed it across my skin and I couldn’t ignore how different we are;
Your light skin to my darkness, your soft brush to my calloused touch;
Your closed eyes to mine open wide.
“Funnily enough, I don’t exactly care what he thinks,” you had said, and I wanted it to be a joke because I wanted you to care, but you were so at peace and sure;
You were never going to let the troubled relationship of our godly parents get in the way of what we felt;
And it only made me feel it more – feel it stronger.
“I’ll marry you, then, if you really don’t care,” I said, and gods did I mean;
I couldn’t mean anything more than those words: I’ll Marry You;
Your mother came to me in camp that day and I never told you,
Aphrodite demanded that I reconsider, that I push you away;
But I remembered what you said and I told her I didn’t care what she thought;
If things were going to be this dark and this hard;
At least I would have the light of love in your eyes to drive me.
“I love you,” I said, knowing that something was wrong between us;
I wanted it to fix everything that had gone wrong since your mother came;
I still never told you about her visit because I refused to believe she had anything to do with it;
I still don’t believe that she did;
You’re still you, but further away; and I’m still me, holding on as tight as I can without pushing you away as my father has done before;
But I said it again that night at the campfire when we’re sitting far away from the other campers, all of us worried about the dangers of this war with Kronos;
“I love you.”
“I love you,” the paper said, the one waiting on my pillow when I went to bed that night and I wanted to pretend it was just your nerves;
But you were never nervous about us and I can’t believe I fooled myself;
I left the note with this poem to Will Solace, who will eventually read this just to be sure he’s taking care of you like I’ll have asked;
Because I’m sure this war will kill me, Silena, and I don’t want you to think once that when I told you that I loved you that it was wrong;
I would have married you that night you kissed me under the stars hidden in the berry bushes.
“I love you,” the paper said;
And despite how often I convinced myself it wasn’t true;
I know that you meant it;
And try to forget whatever it is you have to be sorry about when you realize;
I have always loved you too.