The Sun.

I used to think I was Icarus.

That it was my destiny to do it wrong. 

Hardheaded, stubborn. 

It was my fault for flying. 

If only I’d been more prepared

Flew with better wings

Maybe if I didn’t get too close?

More. Better. Maybe.

A broken record of thoughts

Scratched CD of memories.

If I’m Icarus, what does that make you?

I used to think you were the sun.

My dream of living right.

Pretty, warm.

With you was where I needed to be.

A goal of the deluded

Out of reach for good reason

Worth burning myself alive for.

Your light blinded me from the warning signs.

I’d gotten it all wrong.

You were my Icarus.

A connection we’d never get right

Hardheaded, stubborn

Because all this time

I was the sun.

If only you were more prepared

Flew with better wings

Maybe we would’ve figured it out sooner?

More. Better. Maybe.

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