may eros doom me for I’ll only love you ,
he struck us both with his arrows.
They say attention is the beginning of devotion — you’ve always had mine.
- ,, a case study of marcy . starting off with their individual names :
𝒸yrene : of greek origin, has multiple meanings such as “sovereign queen,” “lord,” or “ruler.” the name stems from kyrene, a huntress said to be loved by apollon. the name is associated with beauty, strength, and independence.
𝓂arko : stems from the latin name “marti-co-s”. it is connected to mars, the roman god of war and the father of romolus and remus. the month of march is named after his honor. therefore the name means “warlike” or “of mars”.
𝓂𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐲 : the name 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐲 is a crafted neologism, created by the author, a portmanteau blending the ancient resonance of the latin root ❝ 𝐦𝐚𝑟 . . . ❞ with the personal, intimate cadence of the suffix ❝ 𝐜𝑦 ❞.
𝓂ar : from latin mare, meaning sea, ocean, vastness. the semantic field of mar echoes of depth, danger, movement, and inevitability. water that both nourishes and consumes. associated with tides, voyaging, memory, and the pull of something larger than oneself. it is also the beginning of markus, “dedicated to mars”—the god of war, restlessness, fire. mar- is both ocean and iron.
𝒸y : the diminutive, a shortening, a tender syllable from cyrene (named for the mythic nymph, daughter of the river-god). linguistically soft, high and quick on the tongue, a vowel-bright fragment. semantically carries associations of myth, femininity, wilderness, and radiant strangeness. -cy is both delicate and unearthly, the name of someone who never fully belongs to the ground she walks upon.
i could recognize you in every lifetime, romeo and juliet if they had teeth , orbits that refuse to lose one another despite centuries , thread of ariadne: fragile, invisible, indestructible , wine spilled across silk sheets , roses in cracked porcelain vases , saltwater pearls found in the mouth of the a shipwreck , the half-smile of someone who has seen eternity and still chooses you , moon and tide , night and delirium , skeleton boy and singing girl , immortal longing written across the face of a boy who never stopped calling her angel.
I’m convinced you were put on this earth to torture me — you’re not complaining.
they seek each other in constellations
she is a cancer. a woman of the sea. ruled by the moon. she flows through her life like the tide. he too, is a cancer. a man born from a tear of aphrodite. ruled by the half-moon and the stormy sea. he flows through life like a riptide. a dangerous match, both are prideful in their own ways. emotional and empathetic. chaotic in the ways chaos intended them to be.
they also find another in songs
I love you - Fontaines D.C
(I just) died in your arms - Cutting Crew : the song strangely reminds me of him.
Romantic Flight - John Powell
Would You Fall in Love with Me Again - Jorge Rivera-Herrans
Kiss me - Sixpence None The Richter
Cigarette Douet - Princess Chelsea
Lust for a Vampyr - I Monster
recognized you in the curve of the horizon
she calls him lover-boy, he calls her 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍. he still would, after not having seen her since she left for europe, because in his eyes she’ll always remain an angel. she’d still call him lover-boy, because he is one after all these years.
You should worship me. — I do. I also worship you…Like a goddess. I wake up and thank your mother that she gave birth to you. Life would’ve been…dare I say miserable if you weren’t there to talk to me each night?
do I look like your girlfriend ?
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ₊ ⊹ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ₊ ⊹ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ₊ ⊹ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ₊ ⊹ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ₊ ⊹
Mr. Darcy & Elisabeth Bennett
Princess Ann & Joe Bradley
always, across centuries, a pattern.
Don’t you think blondes have more fun?
her singing to herself, him repairing his jacket on the floor beside her, needle clenched in his teeth.
him carrying her up a flight of stairs, no words spoken, just the weight of her trust.
her humming while painting her nails, him watching, head tilted, memorizing the shade of red.
him braiding her hair with clumsy tenderness. the quiet of their hands almost touching but never needing to move.
for she’d always search for his soul
found in 1985, santa carla. after not having seen another in 60 years. she wears clothes reminiscent of the roaring twenties while he is dressed like a whole new person. she still loves him of course, she searched for him across the entire globe. always hoping that the news she received fifty years ago were false. he can’t be dead, he swore it. he awaited her arrival. patiently.
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