two hundred and ninth night

remember when i used to tell stories here? "tales of faceless monstrosities and nameless horrors," i wrote.

i don't seem to tell stories anymore. but here's one:

the stymphalian birds were favorites of the god ares. they had bronze beaks and metallic feathers and liked the taste of human flesh. heracles, as part of his labors, was tasked to kill them, but could not even see them as they nested in a swamp which could not support his weight. so athena gave him a rattle designed by hephaestus which scared the stymphalian birds into the sky where heracles was able to kill them with a bow and arrows.

i wish it was this simple.

i wish so many things. i wish i could talk to anya without feeling hurt. i wish she would stop begging me to forgive her.

i want to forgive her. i know why she lied. what we did. how we left those people to die. it wasn't right.

but we can't ignore bad things just because we did them.

i just need time.

time and arrows.