don't.
how could he not?
in these few noteworthy years of his life, when had he ever disobeyed her sound?
when had he even dared?
he turned for the final round. resilience shattered.
'does he make you fly?'
her eyes weakened.
'I don't know if I'll ever be able to fly'
she swallow her breath.
'he gives me wings'
folded, he had already. but oh that irresistible commentary!
'gone, I'll stay. but I will pity you as much as I can, my love. satisfaction is disease for the type of your blood'
what misunderstanding, as always. she found his ears once again immune to her words.
'His wings are fine, my dear. his wings are beautiful, rainbow colors on them, sunshine bright feathers - strong and precious. hand-tailored for my puny arms. alas, my vertigo remains. I don't know if I'll ever let it go. but he gives me wings, darling. he gives me wings.'
defeat came as sour and inevitable as ever. he had nothing more to say to her. his eyes had nothing more to beseech. with an interrupted bow, he detached from the now. he wandered into a search, into a search far away, a search for wings of his own- for if gifted as her, they both knew he could instantly fly.
he was an angel belonging to the skies- of which he dreamt, and she - she would forever float along us mortals, right here on the damp ground that is reality.
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