Celestial Confessions

Icarus in Love

My mother says there are boys who seem to be crafted from the sun. Ones with sun-soaked eyes that pull you in, who are arrogant but strangely alive. Ones whose glimmering smile reflects the sunlight and can temporarily blind you if stared at for too long. Sunshine looks good on them. He's like a cup of iced coffee and, despite the fact that you used to prefer tea, the taste begins to grow on you. It's simply no longer strong enough to give you that same feeling of excitement that he gives you. It reminds you of him. Everything reminds you of him: sunshine and honey and iced coffee.

Mother told me that these boys don't just seem like the sun, they are the sun and if you get too close they could burn you. A boy who is a sun has skin so pale that it is adorned with a golden hue when the light shines. They light up the sky like the sun's own rays, with skin that burns your frozen fingertips yet leaves you wanting so much more; I suppose the iced coffee helps to cool you down after he's left you on fire. His lips taste like strawberries and summer, but beware: he'll take your breath away if you become addicted to his kiss.

Mother warned me that boys who are suns are dangerous. I didn't understand what she meant until one day the boy who seemed to be made of sunlight--the one with the sun-soaked eyes and incandescent skin--held me in his arms after pushing me to the ground. He didn't mean to hurt me and he tells me It's okay, my love. It's okay, It's okay, It's okay. I forgive him because he seemed so sincere. But time after time I find that the cycle continues and his blistering touch begins to melt my skin like wax.

Mother urged me to never forgive and forget. She told me that a woman has lost the moment she shows a man that he can get away with whatever he wants. I wish I had listened to her then, for now, years later, I stand in a puddle of wax; my once fair skin has turned blue and my eyes dull. That beautiful piece of art that god had sculpted out of wax, withers away each day because I forgive too easily and forget too soon.

Each time, I can feel myself falling, again and again, but he reminds me of sunshine and honey and iced coffee; so I forgive him. He did not mean to be cruel. It's okay. I burn as I fall until suddenly I can't feel his fiery touch anymore. His burning essence no longer haunts me for I've plunged into an ocean. I breathe in and am greeted by a new, almost welcome, sensation. I no longer taste the sweetness of summer strawberries. The taste I crave is replaced with that of salt; perhaps I am drowning in my own tears. I don't much mind the sting of the salt in my wounds; anything is better than him.

I wish I had listened to my mother when she said I was a fragile wax statue. I wish I had listened to my mother when she told me boys that come from the sun hurt girls with wings made of wax. I wish I had known that I would fall from heaven and drown in the sea before I flew too high. I wish that the day I met him I had said, "Hello my name is Icarus. Please don't talk to me because I fall in love too easily."

~*~

Disclaimer: Domestic abuse is not a one-sided issue. Men are just as likely to be victims as women, whether it be physically or mentally.