Waiting For Persephone

I sit in semi-darkness and wait. Not alone...never alone...but lonely nonetheless. It is dismal here, by nature and by choice. Six months she has been gone, visiting her mother...that suffocating matriarch who summons with the dawning of every spring and to whom she joyfully flees.

Find another, they urge. Impossible. There is no other who stirs my aloof heart and fills my miserable spirit with contentment. I have my liaisons. It is expected and she understands, or perhaps does not care, that they mean nothing in comparison to her.

Prevent her from leaving, they advise. I cannot. Such an action would sadden her and there is the matter of a promise given long ago which would be sacrilege to break.

Then follow and keep her constantly within your sight, they suggest. Out of the question. My duties are here, my responsibilities are here...my obligations are here.

I can do nothing but sit in the gloom of these melancholy shadows, accompanied by my dark thoughts and even darker fears...and wait. My ears, alert and finely-tuned, hearken to the first falling leaf and I know Autumn approaches. Soon, she will arrive and I will welcome her with open arms, breathe deeply again of the summer sun still lingering in her wheaten hair...and I will know that she is home.

But till then, I watch the sands of time filter with an agonizing trickle through the hellish hourglass while I yearn for the return of my Persephone.

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