When I was young, my grandfather would tell me stories. Wild tales of princesses living in far away kingdoms, witches that cast spells over children, bullfrogs who could sing, and aliens that ate spaghetti.

But my favorite stories were the stories of Greek mythology he would tell me.

He was a master storyteller, full of imaginative life lessons. He was a jovial man, with rounded cheeks and a rounder belly. He loved his work, he loved his wife, he loved his children, but most of all; he loved his grandchildren. There are two before me, but I was the first that was cloaked in pink. He would tap my nose and say to me, “Σ ‘αγαπώ. Είσαι όμορφη.”

As I grew, he tell me I had “the face of Athena” or, the “Greek profile.”

Athena, the goddess of strategic war and wisdom. She was the god the warriors prayed to before battles to ensure victory with minimal loss of life.

She was the one who watched over them as they slept, even comforted them when they wept. She believed not in violence, but tactics. They used her wisdom to wage wars.

She was there for the aftermath, to tend wounds. She made certain the warriors made it safely home, to where they belonged.

You my love,
are like a warrior.
Full of passion,
fear,
Insurmountable strength,
Anger, and courage.

It makes me tremble, to think of the scars you may have. The ones you haven’t shown me yet. But, how am I to help you if you’re hiding from me? I do want to help you, I want to mend you, bring you some peace, but I can’t do that if you don’t lay your armour down first.

Now, I may not know much of warriors, or be immortal; but I’m gonna try my best for you.