I stopped living for a long time and when I started again, it was for all the wrong reasons. Now, I’m not sure how to pick myself back up. I keep thinking that if I pretend it’s not over then it won’t be but my heart is already aching for it and my body already misses it.
I’m not ready for this to be the end.
Icarus laughed as the sun scorched
his back, as the wax threaded his arms
and legs and turned him into a human torch.
See, sometimes life is but the taste of
freedom; it is but the blood in mouths,
hearts on fire.
See, you were always so blazing, so radiant;
I knew, I always knew that my heart on
the other side would never be the same.
Sometimes you come back, rapping at my
ribcage, asking to be let it; I am already
burnt from the wax and the sun and I am
drowning in the ocean - but if I could,
I would still let you back in
(I can’t, I can’t, I can’t).
I used to always ask: Icarus, does
falling feel like flying?
I know my answer now.
It does. It does.
I realised that I didn’t know you at all. I couldn’t see past the mirage I cast of the person I thought you were. You broke me before I managed to pull myself together from the last time. And I miss you still, maybe that’s the only truthful thing I will ever admit to you.