Icarus

The Case Study of a Sun-God

I. Observations on the Physics of Heat

- They tell you not to look directly at the sun. They say it will ruin your vision, but they never mention how the darkness feels twice as heavy once you've glimpsed the gold.
- The wax doesn't melt all at once. It weeps. It's a slow, stinging brand down the spine-a reminder that you are made of earthly, fragile things, and she is made of the celestial.

II. A List of Sins I Have Gulped Down

1. The way her ink-stained thumb looks against the white of a page.
2. The number of freckles dotted along her face is 23 and In the right light you can connect them to my constellation.
3. The realization that I would rather be a handful of beautiful ash than a mountain of marble.
4. The fact that I don't want to be saved. I want to be consumed.

III. On the Subject of Theology

I am told that I hate her. I tell myself the same thing when the sun gets too hot and my skin begins to blister. I say I hate this as the feathers tear away, as the sky turns into a furnace, as the gravity of her existence pulls the marrow from my bones.

For what was the purpose of a religion, if not to drown in the god you've chosen?

IV. The Anatomy of the Fall

Icarus didn't fall because he was a fool. He fell because he finally tasted the air outside of the labyrinth and realized that a life spent running is no life at all. He looked at the sun-at the terrifying, radiant heat of it-and decided to stop apologizing for his hunger.

I am late to my own life. I am a ghost in a house of silver and shadows, trying to remember what it feels like to be warm.

I'm sorry I called it hatred. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I'm getting blood on the gold. I just wanted to see if you were real.

I didn't fly too high by accident. I offered myself up.

V. Footnotes

- The sun doesn't actually make a sound, but in my head, it resembles her laugh.
- I think I might be dying.
- How lovely it is to burn with you.
- Are you even listening?