Raw, beautiful, deep, and giving.
It's a funny thing about wings, really, they have a tendency to show up when you are ready to fly. Uncover and chip away at the muck until that You that has endured it all is all that's left. She'll be new, she'll be old, she'll be something you remember but have forgotten how to hold.
Then the wings arrive,
Then you fly,
Then you wonder:
Has it always been this easy
To soar without concern,
To see without judgment,
To feel without pain?
And when your wings hold and comfort you
As you fall asleep, they whisper to you,
In a way only wings can: