Prose that may be too bland or too blue;
Random stories that may or may not be true;
All penned by Alice in her times of loneliness;
They shall aid the mind and heart of the restless.
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What must it be like to be like you? To be so full of allure and grace that Aphrodite holds her breath when she passes you. To be so full of wisdom that even Athena herself will smile with pride when she sees you. To be so well-versed in speaking about love and life that Hermes would feel insignificant next to you.
Is there anything you can’t do? Because even the most mundane of things appear to be mesmerizing when they’re done by you.
You seem to have a light within you, a light that shines through, a light that cannot be ceased by the darkness of this dying world. Every movement of yours is delicately deliberate, like that of a damsel waiting to ensnare a rescuer, yet, at the same time, it seems like you’re strong enough to not need any. What irony! What beauty!
Did the gods create you to spite us? To make us realize that everything you have is everything we don’t? Did the gods create you to indulge us? To bless us with your wit so that butterflies swarm our stomachs whenever you speak a sentence or syllable of thought? Perhaps both are true. Perhaps not. Perhaps you are simply the gods’ favorite daughter. That’s why they gave you everything, and they gave us only the remnants of a whole.
