I own nothing

Calypso will be freed!

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I used to try to run.

Each day I would swim out as far as I could, and just when I thought I was moving, out on the open ocean, ready to see Odysseus of Percy or any one of the others again, I would suddenly be in a treadmill of water, not moving but never stopping, unable to accept that I could never leave. That my essence was tethered to this place like you'd tether and unbroken dangerous horse. I was trapped.

When he came I was sure that he would stay. But I was always sure, and they never did. The fates were cruel and hateful. My Punishment, in my opinion, far exceeded my crime.

Now I do not think about him or any of the others. I brush out my hair and braid it around my crown. Some days I tuck sweet-smelling flowers in the folds. I tend to my garden, read whatever books Hermes has brought me. I have built a canoe in my spare time (which I have all too much of) so that if the next one simpky washed up, he will have something to at least float away on. I do this in anticipation of my loving him. I could not leave a man I loved to wash up on some foreign shore missing limbs or dying of hunger. No, he must at least have something to float on.

I harvest pearls some days, but do not try to flee. Others I sit out and look at the sea and paint, but I never look too far. Many times a day I must go right to the water's edge to collect shells to decorate my gardens, but I never think too hard about just how far away they came from.

I collect shells and pearls and pictures because everything that touches the shore is something that I love. Sometimes I think it is not the man that washes up that I love, but it is merely to coat of sweet salt water that he has on him that I so desire.

But in my heart I know this is not true.

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