i reach out to touch your wings, and some of the feathers flutter off, lighter than air itself. you do not fight me, but your eyes

bore into my head, and i have to look away. they

leave holes where they land.

don't do that, you say. there is no conviction in your voice, only a weak remain

of what used to be. i wonder how you lived the eons of your existence

without me.

i wonder how magnificent your wings used to be all that time ago, if they were the elegant, ink black i imagine them to be.

as we go further up, your onyx eyes become iridescent, shocking opals against harsh white and yellow. your skin begins to glitter. but even when it appears you are in your element, it becomes harder for you to go at an even pace. you jerk as more of your feathers fall to the ground below.

you are tragically beautiful.