Welcome to the world of GNPs. Welcome to the world of ambiguous conversation.

I am a mess, but still so lucky. I go to sleep with the taste of illness seeping through my pillow and wake up drenched in blood. God has a strange way of pulling zir children to zir side. I imagine my wings growing beneath my skin, the surface rippling until it tears like paper and they push through, covered in ichor.

Pomegranates are not as delicious as I used to imagine. I thought of Persephone crushing a soft seed between her molars and how the pulp would gush from the ruptured skin in a vibrant rush of juice. In reality, pomegranate juice is kind of brown, especially when bottled and organic. If you shake up a bottle of organic pomegranate juice, the bubbles at the top are rusty brown. It tastes thick and cloys sharply, not like any kind of ripe citrus. I wish Persephone had eaten grapefruit, pealed the thick layers back until she got to the shiny pulp and then plucked up the chunk of fruit flesh with her hands before sucking it into her mouth and bursting it all with a press of her tongue. Maybe then I wouldn’t imagine Persephone as clueless, but still I wonder what would happen if Persephone had gotten sick after swallowing Hades’ seed and vomited. Would she still spend such a long time underground? Would winter be shorter, more bearable? Sometimes I wish Persephone had purged that seed.