Someone In Some Future Time Will Think of Us

I often look at my history,
The well trodden paths of loves and loveless past,
And only now, seeing the distance I have traveled these 20 odd years,
Patterns paint a picture for you the troubled girl I am now.

From here I see the moments I betrayed my safety,
Left myself vulnerable enough to be grabbed,
Placed infatuation where intimidation should be,
Mistook love at every turn.

But now—under your honey-glazed hearth-warm gaze, pride and sharp features betrays your gentle touch—you shake me with your genuine heart and passionate smile.

…

Last night—fueled by nothing but what I can only describe as pure selflessness—you read me Sappho at my request.
You did this to ease my troubled sleep, to relax my heart and mind, but I found myself nearly bursting with excitement about the ritual you and I and Sappho are performing together.

Thousands of years ago, within the artistic expression of a deepest love for another woman, Sappho prophesied that someone in some future will think of them, and here, thousands of years later, in one of the sweetest displays of love I have seen with my own eyes, here we are, two women, deeply in love, speaking of Sappho’s love for another, who speaks of us in turn.

I am reminded of the act of performance of Greek poetry. I am reminded of the oral tradition. I am reminded of the painting of Homer reading the Iliad that I poured my blood onto you for. I am jolted with a flick of divine glance at every reference of Aphrodite, and members of myth.

I am reminded of the Greek heroic tradition, where members of great importance, blessed or otherwise fathered by Gods or Goddesses, are made themselves divine in their heroic deeds. Achilles, Odysseus, Jason, and others, all found themselves the center point of posthumous cults with a divine belief of their strength or character. And in their belief, are they then truly made divine, persistent after death in the waking world, able to hear the prayers of the living.

It makes me wonder, then, in all of the people who do place themselves behind or beside Sappho, people like ourselves, people who categorize themselves as a “Sapphic” thus create a modern equivalent to those old world heroes’ cults.
It makes me wonder, then, with sleep in my eyes and husk in your tender voice, if Sappho has been made heroic, divine, in the time she has passed, and if she looks down on us, performing her poetry in earnest, smiling.

…

Love, to me, had become a transaction of bodies, gifts and objects I received for spreading what I thought love was as an accepting participant.

Warped in this capital vision, I had lost myself in the Forest of Want when I was looking for the Beachside of Need.

You, however, in all of your thankfulness of helping you find yourself, have pulled me out of my lost wanderings, given me a new life in this coastside you mirrored me once, and match me now.

I have never needed or truly understood what love meant until I met you, my sunshine ray, my deepest love, my earth whom I orbit.

I feel those above, Selene, Sappho, Artemis, Aphrodite, Gaia, and others, look down on us with a deep sense of peace, and I look up knowing our stars were meant to intertwine and collide at this very moment.

I love you. And I truly believe that someday, in some future, someone will think of us.