13 streetlights

landing is costly

falling robs you of nothing. landing does.

there's this story that not everyone knows.

two souls fought over a piece of the sky and divided it according to legend. one had to inhale the ocean air; he needed salt and sulfur in his system to tend to his past wounds. if he were to force his wings to fly somewhere the universe clearly did not intend it to be, he'd be bound to his faith and blindly worship ruination. he wanted something that he could only spell out in the light.the other had to find something to burn; his cigarette needed something to crash into, something worth killing so he would stop seeing himself as the one who heartlessly lights pyre. if he were to thaw his hunger for tragedy, he'd get drunk on liquid and ash to feel less godly. he wanted something that he could only carve on wax. heaven was merciless, it chose not to grant simple desires to write simple stories. something meant everything. but they rarely continue the story, deciding to leave it as a ripped off story of souls made for each other despite being made of opposing matter and brought up by a contradictory nature. twilight might've done better.

they rarely told you that they both met and fell after.

and there was a time when icarus stopped believing in light.

-

it was cold, the night robbed him of the warmth. it was dark, the streetlamps were gently flickering, lighting up the wet pavement so he could aimlessly, drunkenly amble and wander the streets with the word 'stop' in his mind. it was confusing, apollo was talking to him in conundrums and metaphors. his hazed mind couldn't understand. all it knew was the longest way home, wherever that is. just past thirteen more streetlights.

"let's get you home, eh? tonight was crazy." apollo grasped him by the shoulders to steady his stance.

"leave me alone," icarus slurred, trying to wave him goodbye with a dismissive hand. he meant it. his voice didn't.

"but of course, nothing and no one would be crazier than you," he laughed. no change in the pressure of his hold.

icarus didn't reply.

"come on, what's done is done. you can't be seriously mad for that long." his fingers pressed harder, and icarus wasn't sure whether it was of reassurance or insertion.

he was too focused on the ground, thinking how the rain and city lights brought the sky down and splashed stars everywhere. would he hurt them too if he tried kissing it in front of the world - in front of everybody to see? in front of everybody with judgement in their stares? would they flee the scene, run away from their rightful place, contemplate on turning their knuckles red, drown in liquor to evade their problems, and find strength in ignorance, only to find themselves stuck with the thing that struck them helpless in the first place?

"i told you we should've stopped long ago. now fuck off." icarus picked up his pace, extorting every inch of his effort not to be drawn to apollo's warmth. please take the fucking hint and stay away, he pleaded in his thoughts.