a companion piece to “Daedalus, Diminished”
The wax sticks to my fingers. Feathers shake when I breathe.
Father warned me. Not too high. Not too low. Balance. Core. Moderation.
But wings are not for moderation.
The wind tears at me, hot and cold all at once. My chest splits wide, ribs straining with too much air. It hurts. It’s joy. It’s both.
The gulls wheel beside me, screaming. Their wings are meant for this. Mine are borrowed. Stolen.
I laugh anyway.
The sun is close enough to taste. Honey. Fire. Blood. My lips crack with it.
Wax runs down my arms. The first feather drops. Then another. White spirals against blue.
I spread my arms wider.
The frame shudders. The cords snap. My wings are breaking. I am breaking.
Still I laugh. Still I burn.
The sea lifts its black mouth to meet me. Salt on my tongue, spray in my eyes.
I do not close them.