Musing

Icarus crashed. From exhilaration. Impudence. Heroic aspirations. Do you blame him? Who among us can say we haven't wanted to fly? To crash, even. Relatively. The ones where you spring to your feet, wipe the dirt off and get on with it. Adjust the gear and strap it on. Haha. Fucked that up. But here I go again. Or finding yourself in a heap, unable to move. The very thought is painful. Curl up and stay in bed. Grit your eyes closed and hope it goes away. Someday. Someday soon. Why? In order to fly again.

It's that or quit. But the sun is too high in the sky to quit.