the gods I worship as things and moments and feelings:
The Morrigan: She is the darkness when you step beneath tree cover on an otherwise sunny day; She is a fresh cup of black tea that burns your tongue so slightly; She is the paper cut you don’t know you have- and the sting when you find it while showering; She is bare feet on moss; She is the wind howling at your window, shaking your gutters against your roof; She is a bite of well-made bread, so sharp on the outside that you cut the roof of your mouth, so soft on the inside that the pain subsides; She is scraped knees on concrete; She is the tenderness and intimacy of someone wrapping your wounds; She is the moment when you see something impossible in the corner of your eye; She is the smell of rain and wet grass and storm clouds brewing; She is confidence, all of it- She is the way you feel when you wear your favorite lipstick or shirt or wear nothing at all and admire yourself in the mirror the way that a stranger might admire you from across the bar, or asking for exactly what you need when you need it, getting the raise or the promotion or the loan or the respect because you deserve it and you’ve convinced everyone else of it too, the way you walk when you’re going down the street listening to music and you can feel all eyes on you and you revel in that captivation, the first time you just stop looking at your ex’s social media and you never look again because it no longer serves you and you know you’re better off, the way your thumb hits the “end call” button and you smile to yourself because you get to make your rules and your boundaries and your decisions, waking up and knowing that this is your life and your story and your creation and no one can ever take that away from you so you make a cup of coffee and learn more about yourself than you did yesterday but less than you will learn tomorrow and the next day and the next
Hermes: He is the moment you find the best parking spot; He is the hard-win victory of rolling a natural 20 in DnD, but He is also the humility of rolling a 1; He is the first comforting bite of a convenience store hot dog when you couldn’t afford much else; He is the frantic excitement of running through a field, trying to find what you can no longer see; He is hitting every green light on the way home; He is the joy in adding something new to your collection; He is the mirthful laughter while watching a great comedy with loved ones; He is finding the perfect words to put to paper; He is the frustration of stepping in something wet with socks on, and He is the coziness of putting fresh new socks on; He is the first day you wake up after a nasty cold and you can breathe easy; He is the heartwarming relief when a friend picks you up after a bad day and asks you where you want to go; He is mundane luck, all of it- the time that you get an extra order of fries without having to pay, the job that opened up just when you needed it and they loved you and you start as soon as possible, the penny you find just outside your car door, the milk you forgot about in the fridge but it expires the day after you realized you needed it, the parking meter being broken where you parked and now you couldn’t pay if you wanted to, your favorite show airing on the perfect night of the week for you to sit back and relax and enjoy it, the way you just keep meeting the right people and making friends and discovering joy and finding new talents and falling in love and falling in love with yourself and loving your life even on the hard days because there will always be luck
Hades: He is loud, loud metal blaring over car speakers; He is the wistful memories you have when you look at the urn of a loved one; He is getting your hair just right; He is the needling pain of a new piercing, and He is the radical self-love of making yourself in the image you choose; He is yelling at the characters in a horror film to just pick up a damn weapon already; He is crying and laughing and weeping and smiling at the grave of a friend gone too soon; He is dead flowers hung around the house, the ghosts of their fragrance still lingering; He is eating chocolate chips straight out of the bag; He is the near-silent, darkened city streets lit only by stoplights and neon signs; He is tapping into your inner child and playing air guitar, and He is the callouses on your fingers from actually playing guitar; He is fallen leaves spinning in circles across the parking lot with the wind; He is Halloween decorations kept up all year round; He is the sharpness of the bite your dog meant to be more playful than it was; He is the chill down your spine when you hear an owl late at night, and He is the excitement of hearing the coyotes croon even in the middle of the city; He is mourning, all of it- the memories that throw themselves at the walls of your mind like pebbles at a window, the choked sobs even years later as you wonder who you are without the lost, the moments in which you hear their voice in your head so clear so crisp so loudly you could swear they still sat next to you, the quiet selfish thankfulness that your heart still beats though it beats different now that you know loss, the way you close your eyes while the dirt hits the coffin because this is all just too final, the smile as you run your thumb across the pictures that still hold them even though you no longer can, He is every moment spent thinking about those you lost and all of the regrets and the what ifs and the should haves and the now I know betters
Persephone: She is the refreshment in a cold glass of juice, a glass you drink so readily that droplets pour down your chin and pool on your chest sticky with sweetness; She is the act of putting up paintings in a too-small room, curating the space you have regardless of size; She is the glee in finding September roses, beauty still blooming as the air becomes frigid; She is a bite of fresh fruit, tart and delicious and perfect for the moment; She is the perfume left on the air when you leave, lingering for whoever walks in next- they will know you were there; She is sunshine on the snow, still frozen and always blinding but beautiful in its juxtaposed way; She is the laughter choked through tears at the end of a romantic comedy; She is the smoke wisping away when you blow out the candle; She is pricking your thumb on the thorn of a blackberry bush; She is the delighted squeaking of bats in the trees; She is kisses, all of them- the desperate clinging on a kiss goodbye salty tears finding solace between your lips, the peck on the lips goodnight not chaste but familiar and comfortable and full of love, the grinning through a kiss hello, the kiss on the shoulder of a lover in the shower, the wiping at your grandma’s lipstick on your cheek but smiling nonetheless, the nervous trembling of a first kiss that you’ll laugh at later but in this moment it’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done, the kiss on the head of a child who is learning to tie their shoes and stand their ground and spell their name and be themself and find out just who “themself” is, the kiss you give to your protesting pet while they scramble to escape your arms and the kiss you give when they come running right back for the attention, the teeth dragging against skin in the kiss on the neck- the bruise you leave behind just a mark that you were there and you loved and you felt and you were intertwined with sex and power and divinity and intimacy
