I have this recurring dream about Icarus and the Sun. I am Icarus, and you are my sun. I allow the most shallow corner of my heart - the part that still loves you - to cloud my judgment.
I fly and I fly, trying to get close to you, to what I need to believe is still there; everytime I do, you burn me.
You cinge the feathers until all of my beauty has faded and I am left on the ground in a pile of ashes. In a pile of what once was; of what could have been.
And you remain shining in the sky, ever powerful, laughing down at me. At the wreckage that you helped create.
Is my damage beautiful to you? Do you find validity in my uncertainty? Do you find redemption in my downfall? Peace, in my catastrophe? Do you find renewal in the shell of my former self?
And some day, will you find reincarnation in my death?
Most people define success by how many zeros are at the end of theirs salary each year. By what kind of car they drive. By the size of their pretty, shiny houses.
My success has a different definition. My success means family. I measure success by how much love you give and how much love you receive.
What kind of person are you? If you see someone sitting alone at lunch, do you approach them and lend them a friendly face? Or do you laugh at them and scorn their solitude?
Do you put goodness out into the world? Not so that it may find its way back to you, but because you have so much goodness in your heart, you want the world to share your warmth?
Who are you at the end of the day when the facade is over; when the lights go out and you're left with nothing but the sting of your conscience? Do you like that person?
By my own definition of success, so far in my life, I am not successful at all. But someday, I will be. Now is not forever. It gets better. Time heals all wounds, etc. Right?