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- username: rainichi
kalon name: leander ,, "ander"
how they deal with anxiety:
he hates the ocean.
there’s tranquility in the moments between. a sense of calm, like nothing can go wrong. sometimes, there’s a warning. black clouds in the distance, the rumble of thunder, of the speeding pulse within. other times, it’s sudden. the pang of lightning in a clear sky and so forth does the rain beat down so terribly. it’s hard to stand. the waves steer the boat and speak that this is the path. and they yell louder when they don’t get their way. they turn violent, and they drag their victim beneath. the sailor’s voice is taken. his voice is taken. he can’t move. no one who reaches will ever reach far enough. and so he hates the ocean.
if there’s a way to quiet the storm, he hasn’t found it. to do so is a task beyond his control. he can follow the carassing of the currents and turn, or he can face the storm. he can clamp his trembling hands together, and press himself against his chair, and come out half drowned, barely breathing. or he can run.
he can’t stop it. his fingers are chilled, his head is too hot, he’s thinking too much but hearing nothing and his throat hurts and it’s too loud and it’s too much and yet—
the sun sets. he lifts his head, peers through his hair, and just one more time, he’s made it to the other side. he doesn’t know how. he can barely remember. through all the fidgeting and the rushing blood, he finds himself nowhere but in the serenity of the stars. because when the sky’s candles begin their show each night, he paints stories.
that is orion, and he was a hunter. the best of them, he claimed, and so for his insolence his fate was brought to him by a scorpion’s sting. and that is gemini, the tale of the bond between two sons. one a man, the other a god, but came one’s death, the other followed.
there is one called aquila, a bird whom carries zeus’ own bolts. ander likes to think, someday, this bird will come through for him, and turn the storm away. or perhaps it’s not zeus’ bird he should ask to help, but poseidon’s horses— regardless, he’ll find them in the sky and in the stories he paints.
and he thinks, if the stars were visible always, would they help him through the day? but maybe, in their own way, they already do. because while the ocean is ever changing and unpredictable, he knows that day and day again,
he’ll find the same constellations. he can return to them. he will return to them. when his heart’s been racing and his lungs overworked, their stories will let him rest.
he loves the stars.
also he thinks abt his friends and dumb memes
[ 474 words ]
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