a commission for twistedsnakes
an interpretation of icarus falling, motivated by a depression-fighting

here is the prose that was made by him for this art piece:


I have hopes. I have dreams.
And with outstretched arm, I reach for them.
Why shouldn't I?
Their promise of happiness in both journey and destination.
I am alive. I am free.
And driven by anticipation, I reach for them.
Am I almost there?
The sun is in my eyes, shining its rays of desire. Of aspiration. Of promise.
I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones.
And with my goals in front of me, I reach for them.
Can I finally embrace it?
But they dissolve in my grasp; just like wax they melt away in a trail of feathers.
I am falling. I am tumbling.
And as gravity pulls me away from my visions, I reach for them.
Is this the end?
Can I ever dream again? Perhaps not. Maybe it's for the best.
I am lost. I am dejected.
And as the voices of oblivion call out to me, I reach for them.
Is this my journey's end?