burnout
i wake at dawn. i open my eyes to the rising sun; i bask in its warmth, envelope myself in it, drink it in like it’s the only sliver i’ll ever get. its arrival is so slow that i begin to feel as if it’ll never leave. it is homely, warm, gentle, and almost still—
but not lasting.
because like all things, it is, of course, ephemeral. dusk comes sooner than i think. the chill in the air and in my body returns; i am reminded that nothing is permanent.
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as my world continues to remain reliant on an inconsistent source of light — one i know will eventually burn out and leave me out in the cold — i remind myself that this was my doing. i am to blame for my ruin, my descent.
for i am no better than icarus — i knew i was bound to fall, and i flew towards the sun anyway. towards you. i chose to. my actions were deliberate; it was not a matter of necessity. i could’ve hidden in the dark for as long as i wanted. i did not step into the light out of loneliness; i did not love you out of loneliness. but i cannot help that when the sun comes out, the stars disappear. that when you are there, everything else disappears. all caution of falling and the like fell out of my hands a long time ago.
as to fall means you once soar;
to burn means you once shone.
you are the light i run to in spite of knowing i will stay far too long — long enough for it to burn me alive.
for despite everything, i still shine best under your gaze — regardless of the scorching it inevitably brings.
