ICARUS

deerlily:

“What is it like to be immortal?” Icarus asks.

“Think of it like this,” Apollo explains, ”when I was small, so was my world. The only sky I knew was the one at the foot of my father’s throne. But as I grew, so did my world. I soared the skies above Sparta and Athens and all I asked for became mine. To be immortal is to know that greater victories always await.”

Apollo rakes his eyes over Icarus’ beating wings, “What is it like to be mortal?”

Icarus says nothing as the gentle brush of Apollo’s fingertips leave burns along his jaw. He says nothing as his lungs fill with ash after every kiss. Nothing as his body begins to feel the weight of his wings pulling him down.

And finally, as the wings give in to the heat, and Icarus falls through the clouds, he closes his eyes and says with a smile,

“It feels like this.”

—If you have to ask, then it was never meant to be yours anyway. (i.s.)