Chapter Text
I've been avoiding writing this. It's something that I feel is proof of my goodbye. Am I ready? I don't think I ever will be. I will never let you go. But that's why it's vital for me to write this.
I've chosen to refer to you as Icarus. You didn’t fly too close to the sun, you flew too close to me.
It began with manipulation. I was supposed to find someone to write something for the newsletter I worked for. I couldn't corral anyone into doing it for me. So I decided to use my upperclassmen pull and ask a freshman. When trying to figure out who to choose, I kept finding this tall boy looking at me. He had huge green eyes. They reminded me of innocence. Someone who hasn't seen anything bad. Someone who is cared for and loved and therefore is kind. You’ll see later why this description makes me laugh.
I walked up to this boy (I had found out from one of his friends what his name was).
“Hey Icarus, my name is Ãlios (Greek name for the sun),” at this he nodded, as though he knew who i was, “i work for a newsletter and was hoping you could write an essay for me? I usually meet with my authors during lunch. Would you be up for it?” At this he answered yes.
“Great, let's meet at lunch tomorrow!” he said yes, and the weight and annoyance of trying to find an author was off my shoulders.
I wasn't nervous for our meeting. He was just a fifteen year old boy. I was a confident sixteen year old girl, I dressed nicely and had a loud laugh. I wasn't nervous.
Ok, maybe I was a bit nervous, but that was just because he was attractive. Not for any other reason. It wasn't like I was attracted to him, it was just that he was objectively attractive.
Our meeting went really well. We found an empty classroom and I asked him if he was a history nerd. Right off the bat, I figured him out. I knew he liked history from what he dressed like, how he talked, how he looked at me, I don't know. Something told my subconscious that he was a history nerd. He was surprised that I picked this up. He asked me how I knew. I shrugged and gave no indication of how smart I was. (he's actually the person who helped me realize that i was smart). No one had ever caught onto the fact that I was aware of everything. I looked around myself constantly, let my instincts tell me things, let my mind form conclusions. I let my mind figure things out for me. I've never been able to describe this to anybody accurately. But it's what I do. My mind works without conscious thought. And it's usually right.
We began to work on Icarus' essay. He wrote one of the best essays I've ever read. It was well written with critical analysis and engaging. I might have gushed about it to him. He blushed, which I wanted to get him to do more (should have known then).
I realized that I liked his personality. He was also in my creative writing class and he wrote super nihilistic stories. While my stories were dramatic and happy and sad and melancholy and filled to the brim with emotion, his were absent of it. He was logical. I was a blazing fire.
We began to eat lunch together. Every single day.
He would Facetime me after school and I found myself talking to him. Really talking to him. Telling him my theories and my secrets and my opinions and anything else that crossed my incredibly detail oriented mind. He loved it. He looked at me like I was a blazing star. Like I was the sun. Like i was bright and too hot to touch and impactful. He made me feel like the center of the universe.
It quickly became too much too fast. I was terrified. So I found a stupid reason and broke off our relationship.
There was an older boy in school who I thought was very good looking. (“he's prettier than i am!” were the exact words I used). One day, when I was sitting with my friend group, (Icarus wasn't my everything just yet). He barreled in and told me that he'd just seen this good looking older boy, and yes, he is very good looking. I laughed it off. But I was embarrassed. So I broke off our friendship.
For four and a half months I was fine. Then I got lonely. I was seeing him in school everyday and I really really really liked him. I wanted him back (I also didn't like how it made me feel when he flirted with other girls).
I texted him and asked if we could be friends again. He took me back immediately. At this point our relationship was not equal. I was the gravity stricken sun that dragged Icarus towards me. I was bright and hot and I burned when touched. But I was alluring all the same. He had been burnt, his wings had melted, but the fall hadn't killed him. So he came back. Now our relationship has begun to become equal. He built wings of fiberglass, a natural heat repellent. He could now fly close to me and not be burnt.
For the next year we became soul bound. I am the type of person who enjoys mystery. But I grow tired of people quickly, and once I feel I have ‘solved’ the mystery, I drop them. But Icarus never stopped being a mystery. Because as long as he loved me, I was confused. I know my flaws, I know that they make me hard to love. Yet, Icarus never made me feel anything but adored.
We had a deal. We wouldn't say ‘I love you’ (because it made me feel uncomfortable because I didn't want to date him…yet), we used to say “I adore you.” Yes, it is much more intimate than a simple “I love you.” whatever. I was happy.
I began to learn about Icarus and I loved it. I didn't understand how such a young boy (he was fifteen to sixteen) could be so intricate. He had ideas and thoughts and talents. He was brilliant. He constructed his theories on well researched philosophies. I didn't understand half the things he told me. But I asked him. He helped me become intelligent. I was just trying to keep up.
He would ask me things about my family, things I never thought were different. He helped me confront my demons. He helped me see myself.
I was finally smart, beautiful, enough, because he saw me as smart, beautiful, and enough. I had immense respect for him. My respect for him, caused me to believe him. So I finally took the steps needed to love myself. Once we broke up, I still loved myself. He was such an influential force that his influence remained after his departure. Icarus changed the sun.
Everyone thought we were dating. Everyone but us. We were in our own world of happy ignorance. We held hands. We hugged. We cuddled. We fell asleep on one another. I wrote him poems. He drew me portraits. We never stopped talking. I made him food, brought him coffee. He bought me books. He would get depressed, I would take him home, force him to sleep, make him eat, check on him. He would call me when I was panicking, talk me down from my fear. I befriended his mother, his sisters, and his brother. His father, who didn't laugh, cackled at one of my jokes. I would show up at any time of the night, walk over rain or shine, and find him wherever he went. He befriended my mother, my sister, one of my brothers. My father, whose respect is hard earned, approved of Icarus after one conversation.
I liked when people called me Icarus' girlfriend. I liked imagining marrying him. I liked imagining our first child and going to his parents house. I liked to imagine the speeches at our wedding of people wondering if we knew we loved each other in high school.
Crack. His wings began to crack.
Icarus was sixteen and young. I was eighteen and blazing brighter than ever. I shone brighter from him. He was shadowed and melting from my heat.
He began to question if maybe we were dating. I told him maybe. He told me that he didn't love me romantically. My heart cracked. It shattered. I had this ten year plan. This plan to slowly seduce him. To get him to fall madly in love with me. To love me as deeply as I loved him.
“I want forever.” I told him. He was sixteen. His wings were cracking. His eyes began to hurt from the heat.
She's too much he might have thought.
In desperation, I told him I wanted to marry him. Yes, I was attracted to him. That yes, I wanted forever. I wanted to have his children, I wanted to be the one he comes home to everyday, the one he adores. I want to kiss you, he told me.
Spark. I sent out a spark.
No, my religion doesn't let intimate touch with anyone but my husband. I've strayed too far. I couldn't believe how much I fooled myself. I was helplessly, willingly, deeply, passionately in love with him.
I can't give you up. I texted you.
Kiss me you told me.
I freaked out. My sun exploded. I exploded. “I don't want you!” I shouted at you.
We both freaked out. Me, the burning sun, gave off deadly rays. I shot every vulnerable part of you. And as your wings twisted and melted, as you fell, I used one final piece of myself to cradle your fall. You walked away from me. And me, torn apart from guilt, for burning my Icarus, turned that burning hatred inwards. We didn't speak for eleven months.
Sometimes I tried to text you, but your anger at me was justified. I had burnt you. I was deadly.
Then I called you to apologize. You accepted the apology. But you were distant. I wanted you back so badly. I wanted you to love me again. But I know that's not possible.
Icarus learned his lesson. The sun is supposed to be admired from a distance. You have kept me at arms length.
I am so desperate for you to love me again, I told you I could never stop loving you. Desperate stupid pathetic sun, bowing for a boy. But I couldn't stop myself. I adore you, my dear Icarus.
Dearest Icarus, promise me you will not be burnt from me. Promise me you will never try to build wings again. Promise me, that no matter how much I bend for you, how many sweet rays I send your way, you will never give in again. Never let me hurt you again. Icarus, stay away from Ãlios. Stay away from me.
I adore you.