RE: Dear Icarus,
My little Icarus,
I am sorry for convincing myself
That your wings are not real.
You are an Angel.
Holy. Pure.
A heavenly saint.
How could I ever hate someone
So gentle,
So kind.
You are honey;
You warm my bitter soul.
A garden of flowers would not be adequate for you.
You deserve all the world’s bounty.
Let your wings take you
Where I cannot.
I burned my wings off.
There is still a light within you,
That no one
Can strip you of.
My bleached, glass heart
Will adore you as permanently as you will be,
On the page,
In my loving memory.
