The Goddess of Love and War

Inanna tells herself that people are kind. She mumbles it under every shaky breath to the beat of her footsteps echoing throughout the city. Every step one she’s taken before. The same path. Same circles. Over and over again. People are kind. People are kind. People are kind. Hoisting her backpack higher over her shoulders, she takes the steps that will lead her over the bridge. Today is a bright day and the sun will glisten off the icy water in a way it never would have a year ago. When she lived where everything was dry. Reminding her that she lives there no more. As if she needs a reminder. Everything is a reminder. The crinkled phone number in her pocket that she refuses to look at. Poking her with every step. The weight of the backpack reminds her in its lightness. It holds everything of value that she owns and still it is not heavy enough. The puckered skin on her hand reminds her by its presence.  As a god she could leave the scarred, olive skin behind but that seems wrong. The emptiness in her head reminds her with every thought. Even as a god, she could not leave that behind.