I am Icarus

I am Icarus, and, you, my sun.

Big. Bright. Beautiful.

Enchanting.

Without so much as a second thought, my wings started to move. Slow at first, hesitant, and then faster and faster until the wind carresing my cheeks felt exhilarating. Heart racing, I’m smiling, hands stretched out towards your light—closer, closer, and closer.

I started to sweat, my eyes squinting, the air thin. I gasped. Stopped.

This hurts, I whispered. Hand clenched to my chest.

I felt a tug; heard a whisper telling me, not too close. I looked back, then to your light, then back.

Closer?

No. Not too close, Icarus.

My stomach twisted. My throat dry. My heart beating louder in my ears.

So close. I am so close.

I took a deep breath, shook my head, braced myself, cut through the barricade of clouds—one, two; one, two; one two.

So close, my sun’s almost within reach, my back finally feeling lighter. I smiled.

Just a little mo—strong arms, stronger than anything I’ve ever known hooked me from the sky in his chariot of gold.

Get too close to that blinding light and you will lose yourself. Remember, Icarus, your wax wings and fragile feathers.

I breathe heavy, laborious. My wings, half gone, half still melting; the feathers, most now danced with the wind.

But I was so close. So very close.

I thrashed; my burnt fingers reaching for my now distant sun. Tears streaming down my flushed cheeks.

When your wings are made of steel, and your feathers stronger, you can try again. But for now, Icarus, o foolish mortal with wax wings, for now, rest your weary soul.