Leap

At night, I dream of Icarus.

We’re on a clifftop, overlooking the waves that killed him.

He’s here because I’m scared. Of leaving, of moving. Of losing. But that’s just me. He comes to everyone, eventually.

“Take the leap,” he says. “Trust me. If the choice is to leap or be stuck in the tower… always leap.”

“You fell,” I said. “I know this story. You went too high and your wings melted away. You drowned.”

“Yeah, I did that.” He looks at me with wine-dark eyes. “That’s what everyone remembers. What they forget is that before that, I flew.”