Children of Dionysus are three in the morning.
They're drunk dialing the person you miss most.
They're leaves falling off of trees.
They're a kitten's first claws; learning to destroy.
They're laughing because everything is funny: even heartbreak, especially heartbreak.
They're slamming glass doors.
They're crossing items off a very short bucketlist.
They're blowing smoke rings to impress your friends, and foes, and strangers, and maybe themselves.
Love from a child of Dionysus is rare and wild and unbearably disastrous.