I say let go. I say start falling. Stop flailing in the air and let the sky caress you, and then, let the winds tear you apart. I say you were tired anyway; floating in mid-air. So, fall. Feel the burn of the rising temperature as you begin your descent, headfirst. Let the blood rush to your head as your mind goes numb. I say fall like Icarus once did. Who told you to fly so close to the Sun anyway? It serves you right for trying.
Kiss the ground with the largest explosion this planet has seen, and when you do, stay there. Lie unconscious. Don’t move a muscle; no, not yet. Lie there and cry. Let it all out of you; let the pain out. I say wail so the Gods turn in their sleep. Throw a fit; blame the wings, blame the Sun, blame the wax, blame everyone. Pick at the scabs. Keep screaming, keep crying. Then, watch as your sobs turn softer.
When you’re done, remember your life was still in your hands, and anyone else who said anything else was wrong. When you’re done, put your fist to the ground, and remember you’re in no rush, so, let it stay there. Then, push the ground; wake the Gods up. Get on your feet, slowly, one at a time and stand straight again, like you did when you first flew. It all seems like a distant memory, doesn’t it?
Your life was in your hands. Keep that in mind and look at the heavens you once sought. Look at the clouds, the skies, the Sun and the Moon and the stars. Look at them with a smile. Raise your hand and grab it all. When you’re ready, jump again. The Gods you don’t even believe in are afraid of you; tell them you’re coming. When you fall again, for you will, remember this: your life is in your hands.
It was never about the Sun, my little Icarus. It was never about the Gods either.
It has always been about the man.