Wings

            I slowly picked my way across the sand until I found my wings. They lay there where I left them, the water greedily caressing the downy white feathers. I sat down and held them in my lap. I traced my finger along their bloody, frayed edges. Before I knew what I was doing, I called out to you. I screamed your name and called you back to me. But I couldn’t feel you anymore. I couldn’t feel the shivers run down my spine, and I couldn’t feel you willing my heartbeats on.

            I took out my needle and thread and began sewing each wing back in place. The pain I felt wasn’t real anymore. My anger became my anesthetic. I would draw you in again. I would do it.