Enkidu to Gilgamesh…

The word ‘soulmate’ entered into existence when the gods crafted me,

They made my skin the hue of your favourite sunset,

They made my eyes as brown as the alabaster our images will be engraved on,

They made me so that I might slay your monsters,

Not the monsters of mythology and demonology,

They made me to conquer a king,

With kisses,

Not corpses or kills,

With hushed whispers,

Not warfare or weapons,

With sex,

Not spears or slaughter,

They made me your Patroclus before he had even breathed,

Worse, they made you my Mesopotamian Achilles.

They made me to taste the magic in your lips,

They made me to appreciate the divinity of your true authentic self,

Then,

They made me disappear,

Because men cannot be gods,

Because heroes cannot be granted peace,

Because a king cannot love a slave more than his city,

Because the deities are envious of a love story more powerful than them,

Gilgamesh, I do not wallow and pine for you in gloomy Erṣetu in vain,

I laugh in the depths of this stygian hell because my deep, raw intoxication with you shall grant me fame,

Do not come for me,

I have made peace with the fact that we are one of the world’s first tragedies.

Written by Sophie Bea Louise Overton