Icarus, my friend, I love you.

I remember when you

(yes you)

when you were so young,

and I was too but -

well I could guide you back then.

I think no one can guide us anymore.

‘At some point they have to leave the nest,’

but I don’t think they meant it so literal.

You’ve always reached that little bit higher,

stretched that little bit further,

gone that little bit longer.

Oh.

Icarus, I don’t want you to fall.

I’m afraid.

I’m always afraid.

These things are true with life and with you and

well, I know you’re afraid for me too.

What is the cost of freedom?

Molten wax and broken bones.

But maybe, just maybe,

you touch the sun.

A moment of true light.

Icarus, my friend, I want us to fly.

To escape our black and white prison

into a sky as blue as love,

birds of a feather free at last.

But as I set white wings with black wax

I know that there’s prisons you take with you.

And I know that I crave contentment but you -

you could never settle for that.

And I could never hold you back.