This is the story of a faery who looses the ability to fly.
She also looses the ability to love.
sadly she watches
herself grow weary
in the mirror's reflection
as she awaits
the return of her own wings
She loves him, she knows she does..
Why else would her heart be aching so?
Why would she need to cry herself to sleep?
Coming to realize that sometimes, no matter how much she wants something,
it is not hers to want..
and could never be hers.
(She wishes she could trust what he said to her.
Trust isn't something she knows how to do.
Too many hurts from too many people who said they loved her.)
Coming to realize that she wasn't born so lucky.
So, the hand she has been dealt must be played.
She is afraid.
There was a lucky magic in his presence. A magic they made together.
Reality, she thought.
The only thing that seemed to matter then was time..
never enough.. ending too soon.
The magic times made the others more painful to endure.
Knowing that anything good can't last for her.
She ends it all so suddenly.
Carelessly orchestrated like the symphony of a troll.
When she is sad, she cries..
when she is angry, she screams..
but when she is scared, she withdraws, curling herself into a ball,
using the broken wings to form a cocoon,
within which she hides from the rest of the world.
Wanting to comfort him.. but knowing it will only cause the pain to linger.
And.. she tries so hard to respect his wishes.. his boundaries.. his protection.
She has always struggled to be a good faery..
but without her wings..
she doesn't quite know what to do..
she is destined to fail.