“maybe that boy just wanted a taste of the sun” — Ayyash
they tell me I’m fussy; with lovers, with books, with music. I tell them that I would rather freeze than be barely-warm. I tell them that if it doesn’t set me on fire, then no thank you. I don’t want it. It’s taken me years to confess that I would rather be alone than settle.
The truth is, I cannot stand the taste of in-betweens. Half measures will never be a part of me and contentment will never be my currency. If it cannot fill me up to the brim, I don’t want it. I will only ever be empty or overflowing and I’m okay with it. And they say, boy, how do you think a wildfire starts? From a spark. Relationships need kindling.
And I cannot make them understand than I am not afraid to build on things, to work hard and relentlessly on something, but I must stop apologising for the fact that, truth be told, I cannot seem to want love that does not engulf me. Someone once told me that when you’ve tasted fire, you ache for it, no matter how badly it burned your tongue. They weren’t wrong. Maybe Icarus knew what he was doing all along.
