Artemis is my godmother, but she might as well have made me herself.
not with anyone else; just her womb of stars and moonlight, and a love of open air and indigo sky.  chase the horizon until it becomes a little less distant, and suddenly you just are.  she taught me that.  she taught me a lot of things.

whisper to the wind and talk to the trees; they'll listen.  maybe, if you satisfy them, they might sigh back a response.  notch your bow of silver bark and quilled arrows with the breeze in their feathers, and teach the deaf what they told you.  she does it so often that it's instinct for her now.  (I'm still working on my marksmanship.)

she taught me to run with the wolves, too, but neither of us expected that I would settle into the pack so well.  I am cohesive; I obey the hunt.  I know how to loose the same long, lonely howl.  I know how to protect and guide and follow- mostly, anyway.  the trouble is, I stray in my heart.  I long for more than long nights and stray breaths between sisters.  

I long for someone who will hold me, and that is the one thing my godmother cannot teach me.  she does not know how to catch a man's heart with her glittering arrows, and she has sworn off the folly of trying.

I'm a little more foolish though.  

she holds me close in my despair, and we are so alike that sometimes it becomes impossible to tell the two of us apart.  but it always comes back, the stubborn truth:  I can never join the hunt.

because my father's song is guiding my wanderer's heart, and I was born to chase.  I just can't chase with Artemis.

I love too deeply to give love up.

To what do I owe this childlike obsession
If chosen to be called that.
Am I exaggerating this whole thing, putting too much thought into something so simple.
The characteristic that gives chase day in and day out.
I dream and I chase.
I chase and I awake.
Am I humanly incapable in presuming that this is all I need.
Before the first day, I truly lived life without purpose.
Stuck in endless boredom,
An endless contemplation debating which dining room set looked better
Without a dining room to occupy the full set.
Whom is the turtle, whom is the hare.
Whom provokes who. Which one is you.
Which one is me.
Antagonizing this urge, a simple conversation turns to more.
To taste, to smell this infatuation each time your around.
Realizing the hunger that persisted to move my feet in a forward motion.
Driving me to the brink of insanity. The earliest appearance, the first time you 
ran from me.
The second time you ran, I thought maybe it was me.
Something I said. Maybe you were busy.
The third time, I saw it as the gateway to my time no longer being mine.
The silly things you do.
The teeth gritting. Fist clinching, I can't believe you just did that fall out into laughter. Do it again, I can't believe we almost tried to **** each other kind of silly.
Through it all I do care about you.
Despite the sound of buckshots you always find a way to outwit me