Spring has always seemed to me the saddest time of the year. The earth cracks open as she wakes from her slumber, her scars hidden in plain sight by colors and heady scents. The sky weeps.
Mortals call it celebration; I do not understand how they can't see it as my cry for help.
Summer is always easier. By then I have hit my stride.
Today a blossom wilted and I thought of you. I suspect that I will see that flower adorning my throne when we are together again. You are so gifted at details like that.
It is true that I miss the stars. Lying beneath an open sky with Olympus on the horizon, my dreams grow wild and fantastical. The grass feels so soft between my toes and fingers. And the people, yes, they do adore me very much.
Yet I remember how precious stones glitter in the walls around us. The silken fur of Cerberus forever by my side. And you, the only one whose worship I seek.
Life after life,
Being up here while you are down there is so very strange.
Today Hera stopped by to offer her condolences, once again, that I spend half of eternity in the cold darkness. Better that, I told her, than a million illegitimate stepchildren and several infinities of infidelity and embarrassment.
I do not think she will visit again for a few centuries.
Just know that I always count the days until I can come back to you.