You spoke with passion and vigor. You spoke of everything and of nothing all at once. Your voice was like the soft breeze in spring. Dripped in honey and sweets and endless years of stargazing and whispers between lovers in the dead of night. You hushed their worries and calmed their tears. You sang songs that sparked the flames of revolution. Your words held the power to build monuments, but it could also destroy empires.
To them, you were kind.
To me, you were harsh.
Sometimes you spoke with such cruelty it was as if the ground opened up and I could feel myself fall deep into Tartarus. Your words, once so pure, tore into my soul and shrouded me in darkness. And still I loved you. How you had managed to make me fall so deeply, I shall never ask, for fear that you might have an answer. And so my dearest Apollo, I will take your anger and hatred in stride. I will swallow my self loathing and insecurities and I will once more take to the bottle, if only to hold your gaze, disapproving and venomous as it may be, for some more second. You are a god, mon cher, and I will worship you always, no matter how much I burn in the presence of your light.
You are my Apollo and I am your Icarus.
My desire to be with you will destroy me, but I cant, no, I wont stop.
