1. You love him. You love him with everything you have. If he told you to jump, you wouldn’t bother asking how high. You’d already know, and you’d do it until your feet started bleeding — but you know he’d never make you do that. You are Icarus nearing the sun. You bathe in his warm glow. It sets you alight. 2. You still love him, but now it hurts. He’s making your feet bleed. You’re jumping on broken shards of glass, and they’re cutting straight to the bone. Surely he doesn’t know. You don’t tell him. You are Icarus ablaze. Your wings are on fire. The glue that connects them to you is melting fast. You beg him to stop burning you, but it’s your fault for getting so close anyway. 3. You still love him, but the pain is unbearable. You are Icarus falling. You jumped too high. Maybe if you had asked him how high he wanted you to go, you could have prepared yourself — or had the foresight not to bother. But you didn’t ask and he didn’t tell and the water is nearing fast, so fast. It’s the biggest glass shard. It will cut you in two. He’s so far away now. Why didn’t he catch you? Oh, right — because you love him, but he doesn’t love you. 4. You still love him. You are Icarus drowning. The water is ice cold and turns your lungs to frozen blocks within you. That’s okay — you don’t want to breathe anymore anyway. The chill reaches your heart and the last remnants of your makeshift wings get ripped away by the pull of the ocean. You don’t bother fighting; you let it tear you apart until your pieces come together again. You are not Icarus. You are Frankenstein’s monster, patched together with parts that don’t quite fit right. 5. You don’t love him anymore. He was the sun and he burned you out. You look into the sky. There are billions of other stars, other suns just like him to burn yourself on. You keep your mismatched feet planted firmly on the ground, though. You will not jump for another sun. You will let one come to you.
it’s been a year today and i’m glad you let me drown, s.s. (via sabrxnas)
