I am not Menelaus

its 3am and I can’t sleep. i’m haunted by the memories of when it was good. when the sight of you flipped my insides and I quivered at the simplest touch. when a gentle breeze would send your hair on a merry dance and sent me on a thousand day dreams and a whisper strengthened my resolve as I fought the days foes with achillean fervour. I am haunted, for this was all a memory washed clean of the stench of cowardice and the dressed up bleached bones of failure, of a dream that I lived in heart and soul but truth be told for when others fought for you, my Helen, I remained in Penelope’s unyielding embrace.

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