I love to miss the one I love. That ache, that longing, they make me create. They stir something deep inside. My sadness inspires me. I don’t know what it feels like to live in joy and fearlessness. I’m not fearless, I’m full of doubt and anguish. I don’t know what I want. I don’t even know if I want to go on living. Because I feel like my best moments have passed long ago. That nothing can ever make me feel whole again. Like the sheep did, like my black dog did, like love does. Like hope does.
I miss myself. Taking the tramway, smiling at strangers in the morning. Waiting for the subway. Those small things, I miss the most. I love routines, I need them, otherwise I lose myself. I need structure, a grid to hold onto. Maybe I cannot fly after all, because I’m afraid I might fly so close to the sun that I will fall like Icarus. Burned alive by my own recklessness. My blind ambition. My will to explore, held back only by my fear of the unknown.
I want too much, everything and then something else completely. Constantly exhausting myself with my never-ending train of thought
Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew…
Jack Gilbert, ‘Refusing Heaven’
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph