Wings


Wings

wings
Though so much time has passed that I can barely remember his face, his wide lips, his deep, shadowed eyes and empathetic brow—I forget these parts, they’re more like a warm blur of kindness and light than a particular image I hold in my mind—and though time has shifted my memory in some respects, I remember, and will always remember, everything about his wings. I remember their movement, even when they were held still, aching to ripple and unfold to their full size. I remember their breath, the small wind when they rested, the gust when they fluttered, and the [...] Continue reading
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