When in Rome…


In honor of my Mythology test tomorrow morning…

I often find myself daydreaming of ancient times like those of the Romans and the Greeks.  When there was such a thing as witches and monsters and tragic heroes.  When women were cunning and feared for being so, and the gods walked among us humans and mingled and had torrid affairs.  I thrive on the stories and the imagination that it takes transport to that era.  I thrive on the beauty of the art they created.  Oh the art is my passion.  The sculptures and statues of heroes and gods, frozen in mid thought or action as if Medusa herself looked them in the eyes.  And the stories…I dream that the stories could be real, and that something so majestic and magical could actually exist.  But in reality it is all just myth; there is no way to know if the stories were true or how much they were exaggerated or if they ever even happened at all.  And that’s what kills me the most, never knowing, never knowing if the history of everything is truth or just the lies of the victors.


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