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Description
Guardian Wings

One morning I awoke as the light burst through beautiful stained glass windows and lay upon me softly, waking me carefully with solid warmth. My eyes fluttered open, long lashes batting against cheeks as I took in colors and shapes, waiting for blurry images to come into focus. My eyes centered on the window, which normally had dark velvet curtains pulled over it, and stared, my mouth agape. It was he, come back to life with his pure feathery wings still intact to live out my life with me and banish all my woes. But then my eyes focused further as the sun shifted and memory returned: the stain glass window was done in his likeness as a gift to me for remembrance. He was gone, my Fallen Angel, died in his longing to be with me in this mortal world.

I was his life and his death. For this I soar high on silken wings of love only to fall, the wings cut to fluttering ribbons by a doubly edged knife called grief that shines a deadly silver in the land of the living.

I push aside approaching tears and dress for another day of walking through the forests of longing and memory. Pushing open thick oak doors I step into the forest, walking past willows and pine, through patches of sunlight as it splashes down through the trees like liquid gold come to life. A flash of purity caught in the light and I turn my head, brown curls falling over shoulders as I turn to stare at a single pure white feather, floating slowly to the ground. It catches on a breeze and floats to my open and waiting hand, dancing across the pads of fingertips before landing softly in the open palm of my hand.

A smile caresses my lips and I close my fingers over the feather. I loved him and lost him, but he still will never truly be gone from me, from my heart.

Description
Guardian Wings

One morning I awoke as the light burst through beautiful stained glass windows and lay upon me softly, waking me carefully with solid warmth. My eyes fluttered open, long lashes batting against cheeks as I took in colors and shapes, waiting for blurry images to come into focus. My eyes centered on the window, which normally had dark velvet curtains pulled over it, and stared, my mouth agape. It was he, come back to life with his pure feathery wings still intact to live out my life with me and banish all my woes. But then my eyes focused further as the sun shifted and memory returned: the stain glass window was done in his likeness as a gift to me for remembrance. He was gone, my Fallen Angel, died in his longing to be with me in this mortal world.

I was his life and his death. For this I soar high on silken wings of love only to fall, the wings cut to fluttering ribbons by a doubly edged knife called grief that shines a deadly silver in the land of the living.

I push aside approaching tears and dress for another day of walking through the forests of longing and memory. Pushing open thick oak doors I step into the forest, walking past willows and pine, through patches of sunlight as it splashes down through the trees like liquid gold come to life. A flash of purity caught in the light and I turn my head, brown curls falling over shoulders as I turn to stare at a single pure white feather, floating slowly to the ground. It catches on a breeze and floats to my open and waiting hand, dancing across the pads of fingertips before landing softly in the open palm of my hand.

A smile caresses my lips and I close my fingers over the feather. I loved him and lost him, but he still will never truly be gone from me, from my heart.