Spun Words

Remember how stories of goddesses who fell in love with humans end up losing their power?

I often think about that.

How can a goddess—born with the power of nature or of the universe—lose it? Was her power given conditionally? That if she loved a human, she’d lose everything?

I thought about that the second time.

I walked that thought.

I sat with it.

It visited me just before sleep, and in the hazy in-between where dreams and wakefulness meet.

Why?, I wondered.

Then one day, as I was commuting to work—gazing out the window, watching the clouds form in clustered blooms—I thought:

Maybe she didn’t lose her powers.
Maybe what she lost… was herself.

Caught up in the web of love, the more the goddess moved, the more entangled she became. Until escape seemed futile; until even trying exhausted her; until all that’s left was to surrender to her fate.

She didn’t lose her powers—she forgot it.

Unless she remembers what ancient powers brews inside her,
she will forever be lost in those intricately spun words in silver thread holding glistening dewdrops brought by the misty morning.

Delicate, yes—
but strong.

Promises that seemed like it could stand the test of time.

A trap so beautifully laid.