My father never read me the story of Icarus. I found it for myself. I suppose he did not want me to know what it was like to almost touch the stars. But it was only after I had read the story did I even try to reach so far. It is a little like falling in love...and then drowning in the sea.
(I would be lying if I said the fall didn't break everything I had once believed was solid.)
My science teacher knew well that I was a dreamer. When I told her I believed fairytales were as real as love is, I could see the disapproval and disappointment in her eyes. I suppose thats why in her classroom, when I was asked what the greatest force in the universe was, I answered love. I suppose thats why she laughed and reminded me that love was as much a fairytale as the fairytales I believed in.
(She was wrong. Love exists...its just been broken into a million little pieces, set afloat in a sea of heartbreak.)
My mother didn't want to speak about the sea anymore. As a girl who had been born to the water, I thought I understood why. It was the white winged tips of a furious sea storm that stole what she loved best from her. It wasn't until my grandmother told me on a dark quiet night where the moon glowed pretty across the still waters that I truly understood why.
("She should have never stolen you from the water. It will always want you back. It will never forgive her.")
One day I will meet a boy. He will be stars sent, undiscovered, bewitching...he will know that my favourite song is about winter and how much I love the rain. And I will love him with all of what is left of my broken little heart.
Only to find that he has stolen the eyes of a Sea God.