You warned me that my burning desire would not match your burning heat. You warned me that l would fall if I ever chose to fly too high. You warned me that love always meant falling, and reminded me that I’m afraid of heights.

But, just as Icarus loved his sun, I too ignored the lectures and flew too close. It didn’t matter that I loved you in wavelengths of red and blue because your aluminium wrap thwarted them from ever breaking through. The sad truth is, I can’t help but think we’ve been here before, because despite any attempts to ground you, the sun rises each and every morning and my love for it is relentless; forever flying too close.

This is a fictional response to the prompt: sun.

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