Icarus was a slow burn. I inherited the concept of the song/character in late 2021 but didn’t quite know how to convey it with my own flair. Surely enough, I had a verse for the original track but I left the song unfinished — until I got my associate’s degree and transferred to Brooklyn College for the fall 2022 semester. All the while, I had moved out and I felt alone in searching for a sense of community. A couple bridges were burned, and I had just finally gotten over the breakup of a two-year relationship over the summer.

It was a mess, something so massive for a then-20 year old me. I had been learning to live with myself and along the way I found myself yearning for another woman… a barrier I didn’t quite know how to maneuver because of my social anxiety. I had many reasons to record this song and to be honest, she was the trigger. I remember going back to my new apartment that night, discouraged in my ability to try and grow closer to her. To let off steam from the disappointment in my courage, I had sung my heart out in FL Studio over a laptop screen that somehow had been damaged over the last week. I accredit my sociology course for helping me further develop the vernacular within my lexicon to express my looming anguish.

Icarus was a fitting title because I had flown so close to the sun with the bridges I burned, and it came back to bite me so fast. The venom of such had taken a while to heal from — something I hadn’t fully recovered from before the 2023 summer. I look back to those 2022 memories with what could’ve been, and I try to do so with compassion — I was reckless. It humbled me, and it taught me many lessons in which I’ll keep in mind the next time I leap. Simultaneously, I should be proud that I traversed this path, and turned my situation into a song of uncertainty, hope, and faith. My Icarus is recurring. My Icarus is resilient. My Icarus is my interpretation of what would come to be if he survived the fall. He’ll be back.