#ist.

Emperor Hadrian wearing the toga, 2nd Century AD, from Adana, Istanbul Archaeological Museum. 

I wonder, if when I said it back, she could hear my heart in my throat, begging for more words than I’d give it. 

Sometimes I was sure she wanted me to say them, but was as afraid as I was to ask for them. 

The other times I knew she didn’t think about me at all at night and this was all the love she could give me, slurred words and unfocused eyes, sincere, but oh so terribly trivial.

II. The sea is in love with Icarus. It sees him, on top of a prison of rocks, and It throws itself against it, trying to reach him, this boy made of blood and bones and fantasies. This boy Icarus, who is always looking up at the light and never appears at night, who has never perched himself upon his window to look at the darkness below, not once. 

III. The sun is in love with sea. It has wanted to reach the endless water since It first shone upon this world, since It first saw the sea scream and move and destroy, in all of Its beautiful shades of blue and green and black, and It was the first time the sun had ever seen something so beautiful, so dangerous and so alive. 

IV. Icarus flies, up and away, his father’s word small near the size of a first love, his wings barely holding themselves together, and the sun shines upon the boy’s face who smiles as if it’s all he’s ever done. He just wants to feel the warmth upon his skin, reach into the blinding light. 

V. The sun follows the sea’s gaze and sees It looking at this boy of wings and dreams, trying to reach the sun as if nothing else mattered more. I’ll give you a gift, my love, the sun whispers in Its voice of light and fire, and poor Icarus, caught between gods that love too much and care too little. 

VI. Icarus falls.