Bare-foot, her every stride towards the water was doubtless, in footprints she leaves the sand with scarlet.
I was far from the shore when I witnessed this. Almost daybreak. Her long jet-black hair flowed playfully with the wind. I called out, on top of my lungs but there was no echo, no sound. I screamed my hardest, "No!" but there came out nothing, not an utter, I began crying desperately hoping that the woman could hear me if I would, almost like you would in a prayer. It was almost like her sadness involved a sort of hunger, the pupils of her eyes spreading raven-like black to the edges of her eyes, she then howled in horrible pain.
A mother crying of loss. Crying out to her Achilles, her son whom before was everyone else´s glorious hero was her cradled little boy. Sweet and fragile in her arms, vulnerable in her hands as his heels to a spear.
Her hero can no longer save her from this pain. Her eyes dripped tears of blood, then she went on walking. Steps sure and bound. I watched as the waves engulfed her as if this is her last embrace. For once I've witnessed the goddess without a battle, no war against the sea was waged, she had allowed the waters have her,
I ran after and then I woke up in sweat my mother beside me.
-dor, 11.25.19 (draft made) 3.19.20 (edited and polished)
