The Rhythm of Immortality

Where I Find My Modern Gods

Morpheus is in the legs that fall asleep and the eyes you can't keep open, and the endless cups of coffee that didn't work, caffeine immunity creeping in. He's the sand in your eyes the day after an all-nighter, coaxing you to pause, letting you know the world can wait a few hours. In the vivid daydreams and dizzy thoughts that conjure themselves into vision even when you don't close your eyes. He's the sudden smells that take you back a decade and are gone as quickly as they come.

Hades stands not in graveyards but on every corner and every bridge. He crosses the street with you as you contemplate the oncoming cars. Dutiful accountant, he knows your name, and it waits on his tongue. He's not there to rush you, nor help you. Perhaps his presence is enough. Even in ideation, Hades is in cold fingers and forgotten teas, crumbled leaves that tell you he's taken her away again. He's in the rinds of fruit and discarded husks, the plucked leaves, the end, always waiting at the core of everything.

Persephone is in the fresh fruit, ripe and ready to burst, eating them, destroying them feels like a sin, like delicious betrayal. She's the first sharp bite and the way the juice rolls down your chin, in the decisions you hold steadfastly onto. she's in defiant stares and the way you walk in like you own the place, because as long as she's by your side, you do. When people whisper your name and pretend they don't see you, she's there, by your side, lifting your chin. Fear may also be hate, but it is also fear, and that is your power.

Aphrodite is in the crisp line of lipstick, and the boldness of a sharp cat eye, but also the next day when it's smeared and freckled with chipped mascara, the glance in the mirror when you see yourself like this and shrug, 'not so bad'. She's in the burst of warmth and weak you feel when you watch a child laugh with its grandmother. She's there in that moment you fit into those jeans, she's there when you slip into sweatpants and have a second slice of cake. When you shit talk your ex she's there, nodding and making sure you know he was no good for you.

Dionysus walks in when your friends do, carrying his revelry on their shoulders. With a bottle of champagne, -a treat-, he's not so much in drinking it as he is shaking it up and popping the cork, the laughter and the mess that ensues, the sticky fingers that last the night. He's there in the morning next as well, surveying the damage and grinning like a king when you scrape chips off the couch.

Hermes is there for every change, every new step and stage. when you dye your hair, pierce your ears, chip your teeth. every transition into a new you. no detail is too small. He's in the coins you find in the grocery parking lot, making their ways to different hands and sparking your interest in who held them last. he's also in the store, racing alongside children that ride the grocery carts down aisles. he's there on each journey, even the routine ones, dancing through doorways and changing which track your train will arrive on. but you don't need to worry too much, you know he's only playing, and will always get you there on time. he's in that one blemished penny you can't seem to get rid of, because it always flips heads for you when he's around.

--Orriculum

http://orriculum.tumblr.com/