The Icarus Project

i'm sorry.

i know you've seen me put myself on self-destruct for years now.

i know you know more secrets about me than almost anyone else.

you know i know you're the only one i trust almost fully.

i know it pains you to watch me put myself through the silly roundabout shit that i put myself through.

it deprives you of your sleep. it makes you weary listening to me.

i know you feel like slapping me and giving me a good round of kicking in my ass for not listening to all your advice.

i know you think i'm an idiot for going out with the guys that i have. to quote you: they've all been shit.

i don't know how you knew about the latest, but you seemed to know.

you always seem to know the right things to say. at all the right times.

and for all the times you've stood by me, and advised me, and listened to me, thank you very much.

know that i've tried. know that i'm trying still. harder than you can ever know. know that i'm forever grateful.

you say i deserve better than i've got. that i'm one of those who needs love more than sex. that i should stop giving in to men who don't care. who aren't worth my time, and care and attention, and devotion.

that my self-discovery doesn't have to be in shit.

that fatalism isn't attractive on me.

that i shouldn't wallow in the mud of the plebs when i'm patrician.

that no one else matters but me. nobody. none of their opinions.

that it's true we may all live together but ultimately we die alone.

that shit isn't for me. the sun is.

i know not what to say. know that i appreciate your vote of confidence always. that i may not tell you often enough, but i do. thank you for thinking i'm beautiful, and worth the sun.

call me icarus from today henceforth then.

i'm aiming for the sun that's rightfully mine.

if i fall, i can at least say that i've come close to greatness.