You are the sun. Free, radiating, beautiful.
Your golden fire and light attracts them. The butterflies holding on to your every word.
I am holding back my wax wings. No more, i whisper. No more.
For they have melted before.
And my light is dim, fading away. I can’t grow them back.
I am the moon, hiding in the night. Chained by doubts. I run away from butterflies: i can’t light their way.
Moon is the part i was meant to play.
I don’t mind it.
But I never want to have the burden of Icarus