jasm ing

One day you think: I want to die. And then you think, very quietly, actually I want a coffee. I want a nap. A sandwich. A book. And I want to die turns day by day into I want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friends, I want to sit in the sun. I want a cleaner room, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else, I want to live.

“ and I should have at least died for a love that was sweeter”

I want to be like Icarus. Not because I want to fly so close to the sun, the wax scorching my skin tastes like victory; nor because the relief of salt on fresh wounds would give me a startling realization of how delusional I had been to think I would ever see the heavens as a mortal; to imagine the saccharine taste of fire on my lips. I want to be like Icarus because of his ambition. His father had warned him of the dangers, yet Icarus still flew higher and higher. Icarus allowed his ambition-clogged mind to be his downfall for even a glimpse of what the sun felt on his fingertips. And isn't it better to have so much ambition that it kills you or none at all?

I’m plagued with an exhaustion no amount of sleep can fix