Sometimes I can still feel the feathers. All those twists of hollow tubing and broken down as each white memory fell ashamed from what could have been a sturdy back- one, of course, that would no longer support the constant pressure nor consciousness of my own self pity. It was so damn painful to shed those pounds of emotion, but it was worth it right? What might have felt so beautiful and looked so right in the eyes of a blinded angel... how was I to know salvation could be found in falling? I feel naked and whole again. No decorated mistrust, no salvation in the protective cusp of my own folded image. I can almost stand without relying on the counterbalance of weight constantly looming behind me- but I do miss it sometimes. Those wings- feathers and memories lost to the winds of good fortune.
I guess I'll just have to learn how to fly on the inside now.
Zaerin Grey · Wed Jul 01, 2009 @ 03:23pm · 0 Comments |