The Prophetess

He whispers sweet promises in her ears.

I need you.  I want you.  She meant nothing.  I pine for you.

She is enthralled.  A sensation of awe twines up her stomach and curls around her heart.  She can almost taste the emotion.  It has a name, but she is unfamiliar with it’s bittersweet burst of flavor.

I miss you.  I think of you. What can we do to make this work?

The idea hangs above her head like an almost ripe fruit.  She worries whether bugs have burrowed in it while it hangs so innocently above.  Perhaps it is a hollow fruit, unable to be savored.  She has been warned before.

I know every sweet word to say.  I know every sweet spot on your body.  I know how to make you sing.

She misses singing.  She misses that syrupy thick feeling while lying on the cool sheets and allowing his fingers to dance over her.  She tries to forget they danced over another.

I never intended you harm.  I would never want to hurt you.  I want to show you how much I’ve missed you. I want to show you how beautiful you are.  I know I can help you see it too.  I always could.

He speaks the truth. The idea of self-beauty is a cobweb he presents her with every encounter.  It dissolves within a day, but glitters so brightly in that short time as to be worth every delicate moment.

She is Cassandra.  The Prophetress. Doomed to know the future in stark truth, but unable to stop it from becoming present happenings.

Even from herself.

She leans over the precipice, knowing exactly what lies below.  And yet she lets the sweet lies roll over her.  She is not only gifted with The Sight; she is also gifted with undaunting optimism.

She hopes.  She dreams.  She longs.

Perhaps this time they will not be lies.

Perhaps this time there will be that elusive Happy Ending.

4 thoughts on “The Prophetess

    1. Pen Post author

      Ah, your intuitive prowess. Yes. I’m not sure what direction to go right now. It’s so easy to just fall back into that safe blanket. Even if the blanket is frayed.


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