April 8th

I've been gone three weeks now. I thought this retreat would restore my senses. I thought I could shake him from my dreams. I was wrong.

Again and again, he has come to me as a whispered question, as the hiss of my hair swept up by the wind, as the steps of my shadow walking along beside me. He has followed me through towns of temples and gods, vineyards and olive groves, the seashell-strewn shore of the Aegean. He has been with me as an echo of the passion cries muffled by the embrace of strong, familiar arms. Even as I lay with other gods and mortals, Cyclops stays with me.

I tried to phone him once, but hung up as soon as I heard his voice. I must return to the old city and find my sister. Perhaps she can guide me past him.