Letters to Themyscira

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Dear Antiope.

Do they mourn me? At where we used to be? Does mother sit on the veranda, wishing she could see her daughter, see her sister? I know I do. I mourn me.

I sit in my empty house, in an empty city, living an empty life. I look out the window to see the clouds, knowing it is not the same clouds you see. This is not a home to me. I go to bed at night, close my eyes, and feel love. I can almost smell my mother and feel her hand on my head, hear her voice humming softly. This is home.

I run everyday, just like I used to. I am not running from anything. Instead, I run towards the nervana. I run to feel the familiar burn in my lungs, to hear the pound of my feet as they hit the ground, to see trees become blurry memories. Every time, I get to a point where I feel nothing. I close my eyes and I am home. I imagine the cobblestone paths, the winding staircases, the high archways, the terrain, the ocean, the sand, everything. I can almost hear the others telling me to slow down. I feel the ocean mist on my face, the misty ocean air in my hair. I can hear the slap of my sandals, the rustle of my skirt. And for a second, I am free again. Yes, I think to myself, this is home.

And then I open my eyes, and see the clouds that are not the same. My heart is not racing because I did not run fast enough. The air is not cool because I am wearing fashionable outerwear. So I go back to my fashionable house, put on fashionable clothes, and go to my highly esteemed job.

And when I am done doing my work, I go to my house which is not my home, and I do the meaningless thing humans do. Over the years, I have tried to fit in. And I find myself enjoying the meaningless rituals. I might go get a drink with a friend after work. I might watch my favorite television program. I might read a book about elves and kings. I might go to one of the many monuments and pay my respects to the fallen false god. To my fallen friend.

But everyday, whether it be at work or home, I take out his watch. I look into the face of the antique as if staring at it will give me answers. I think of him. That was the happiest time of my life. And I know, deep down, that I will never be that happy again. The universe has put me in a tumult of misfortune. One that, no matter how hard I try, I will always be stuck in. There are times when I am instilled with false enjoyment, but that is quickly overshadowed by missing pieces. I had it all, and I lost it all. I reached the top of the mountain, and I've been falling off the dark side for years.

But I am complacent in the fall. I've found comfort in it. So I don't try and fight it: I don't scream, I don't reach, I don't fly. Sometimes I think that I've already hit the ground. That my life is already gone. Sure, the moment I met him, my true purpose as the godkiller was revealed, and I had drive and motive. But when the plane went up in flames, I realized that there is no point to having a purpose to exist if all you will do in return is suffer. But, as you used to say, there is no glory in being a hero. All those who save must also sacrifice.

So I look into the face of his watch, and mourn myself. I mourn the little girl that used to want to fight all the time. Life has killed her.

But, and there is always a "but" in this world, I seem to be flying against all odds. Yes, it is hard to rise again from falling for so long, but my friends are helping me. For the first time, I feel the same camaraderie that I felt in that bar in London so long ago. I feel companionship in the people that are just like me. We are not exactly human, and we are here to serve a greater purpose. And for a brief second, I felt at home. The pure happiness that was completely untainted by the past. And it was beautiful.

Oddly enough, it was after a funeral. I've been to many funeral over the years, watching one friend after another go. But this one was different. It looking like it was about to rain. The perfect weather to fit the sunshine the world had lost. We stood near the trees in the back, so as not to disturb this private event. It was not my place to be there, but it would have felt wrong if I went to the public funeral for Superman.

The procession was quiet and emotional. Martha and Lois, the mother and girlfriend, were a bundle of tears. I pitied them. But Clark was a god man and a great fighter. He died protecting his loved ones. He died fulfilling his purpose, and that is the greatest thing anyone could ask for. He died an honourable death. Therefore, I did not understand why they were crying so much. The many friends I have seen die happy and of old age did not demand tears. I learned that life is temporary, and that we should feel happy for the memories they gave us.

But the I remembered how much I cried for Steve, and I mourned him heavily, but I moved on. He died honourably, and I respect and love all the more for it. So I sympathized with Martha and Lois, but I did not cry with them.

I saw a figure standing up the road near the trees. A quick text from an unknown number told me to meet him at that very spot. Bruce Wayne had a way of being mysterious that made me laugh. The text said that we needed to discuss things. Of course I knew that he wanted to find the other metahumans. I also knew that he felt responsible for Clark's death. After talking with Bruce about finding the others and of hope for the future, we walked back to his car. I will remember this walk for the rest of my life.

"Well, it's back to Gotham for me," said Bruce. "Where are you headed?"

I hesitated before I answered. "Paris."

"Are you going to keep hiding from the world? Or are you going to make peace with your past?"

"What do you know about my past?" I looked at the open field we were walking along.

"You said you turned your back on mankind a hundred years ago. It just seems like something personal happened" Bruce tried to look innocent. He knew. And he knew that I knew that he knew.

"What do you want, Bruce?" I sighed.

"I just want you to know that I am here to listen to your story, should you choose to tell it," he said. If anyone else had said that to me, I would have dismissed it as someone just wanting to learn another secret. But the sincerity in his voice betrayed him. I could tell that my story, however much he knew about it, had become something personal to him. I was glad. Really glad, for the first time in as long as I could remember. To have someone truly care about you is special.

I looked in his eyes and saw that he deeply cared for me, and that the short time we knew each other was just the beginning of a great friendship. And that is all I can ask for. A friend.

But something inside me, be it habit or fear, told me to distance myself. Everyone around me dies, so I saw no point point in attaching myself to someone else. Yet, the magnetism to Bruce was so strong. We walked in silence the rest of the way. I took that time to let myself come to the decision to give into this relationship. I allowed myself come undone in the comfortable silence that I haven't felt in a hundred years. It was a rare thing to find someone you could walk in silence with.

We came to the parking lot and stopped. Bruce put a hand on my back.

"Can I tempt you a drink? I think I saw a little dive in bar on the way here," he asked smiled that half smile that made him look like a jerk, but was really just him attempting to be friendly.

"I have a plane to catch, unfortunately," I said.

"Ah, right. Paris" he winked. "Can't you just fly there? Or do you just like planes?"

"I detest planes," I said, come flooding any emotion that my show on my face.

"You are a puzzle, Diana," he said as he started to walk towards his expensive car. I will take this friendship slow, I vowed to myself. Nothing to reveal to fast.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, turning around. "I sent you a little package. Enjoy."

Enjoy is an understatement of how I felt when I opened the package at work. But the giddiness I felt on the plane was enough to make me realize that there might be more in life for me yet. I looked out the window and saw the clouds, and realized that they are the same clouds Bruce is seeing, the same ones the other metas are seeing. And I felt at home.