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Wings

I know you don’t know how much it means to me. The moments where you let me, be me, where I can stretch the wings I’ve had to wrap so tightly around myself.

I know you can’t fathom how it feels when I don’t hold back. When I am not less than to suit another’s needs.

I was learning slowly even before you that I did not need, nor did I desire a cage. Of mine or someone else’s making.

Why should I be less honest or observant? Why should I laugh more quietly, have fewer deep, rambling conversations at ten in the morning as often as I might at midnight? Why should I love less deeply, less freely then in this moment with you?

With you…it’s so different. You cannot see what my shadows hide. You don’t fully realize the pain I harbor and my demons don’t always play nicely with yours.

Yet still you stroke my wings when they are spread wide. Softly caressing the broken feathers and coveting the smooth and supple for yourself. Encouraging them when they falter with a smile or a phrase.

My wings grow ever brighter each day. They have become a shelter rather than the just the entrance to the storm. They can hold their weight and yours when your wings falter too. For I would gladly give my wings to you.

Author:

Creative writer and amateur photographer.

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