#alexandria
I miss the feeling of new love, I miss the feeling of swimming deeper into a new psyche. The deeper I dive, the more gems, precious metals, pearls, troves of wonder, neither outdoing the other, every one beautiful and special and highly coveted by me.
But the fear is real. What am I afraid of? Change? Change is inevitable. If I fear her change, then I do not really love her as I ought to. I loved her in her heyday, through her slump, her rioting and her stagnation. I loved her when she showed me her truest potential and when she wore the mask and garb of her undoing. But where else can I go? Who else do I have but her? Is that cause enough to love her unconditionally? I need her for my identity. I need her for my sanity. I need her for my self-concept.
She’s given me more than I’ve needed, too. All I wanted was an address, a place to refer to when asked “who are you?” And she gave me far more, despite her inability to give to herself. Despite my stinginess with her.
Sappho and Alcaeus, 1881
Lawrence Alma-Tadema