You will be a legend.
They will write plays about you – songs, poetry, paintings, scrolls and books. Everyone will know your name and what you did for the world. You will be revered and worshipped for generations to come.
You will be given offerings at statues and temples. Etchings will hang in the houses of your followers for hundreds of years. Stories of your feats will be shared around hearths and camp fires forever.
People will claim to have known you – to have feasted with you, to have drank with you, to have been intimate with you. They will claim to be descendants, an illegitimate child, long lost lovers.
History books will not write about our relationship – they will write about the companionship of your fellow war heroes, the comradery you have with your fellow world leaders. They will paint you within their pages as a leader, as a teacher and as a friend.
But they do not know you as I do. They don’t know every crevice of your body, every line of your lips or every notch of your spine. They haven’t see you at you worst, nor have they seen you at your best. Only I have seen these things and I will be the only one to ever see them. They do not know you as a lover, as a father and as a husband.
But I do and there is no one in the world who knows you better than me.