Wings

She was there when I awoke. And she was perfect. She was that first glorious heartbeat beat you feel in your chest. She was that moment when the sunrise soaks into your skin. She was the first mist of vapor from a towering waterfall. She was the first glittering gem that ever caught man's eye. She was the first touch of a mother, and she was the first line of every poem, the first stroke of every masterpiece. She was the chorus of a thousand singers condensed into one evanescent note. She was my angel, and I knew it from the moment I saw her. But she was also a girl. Her frame was the slender turnings of a wise will-o-wisp. Her black locks were forged of glimmering obsidian and embedded with strands of Saphire. Her hazel eyes glowed and simmered, full of deep life and passionate purpose. Every inch of skin shined like a fresh coat of snow while azure rivers flowed beneath the surface. And like a lighthouse beckoning to forlorn shipwrecked sailors, her soft smile leaped out to me. The gentle warmth of her joy flowed over me, relaxing every muscle, and soothing every fear. But her beauty was not in these things alone, for stretching out from her back were two vast white wings. They were not the vicious wings of eagles, nor were they weary wings of seagulls. They were not jittery, or distracted, or old, or young. They were great things of magic and time. They glistened in the early morning light and stretched out as if offering sanctuary. As I rose from my slumber she took one sure step towards me. That step alone escapes the boundaries of my imagination. She stepped towards me like she knew me like she knew every nook of my heart. She stepped towards me like she knew all my faults and cracks and worries. She stepped towards me knowing me in every facet and way imaginable. She could hear the stardust in my bones and feel the ticking of my soul. She stepped towards me knowing everything wrong with me, and she stepped on anyways. As her foot hit the floor she took my battered hand in her heavenly one. As I felt the warmth of her grasp, something shattered inside. I felt myself break a hundred different ways, felt floods burst forth from the windows to my soul. I fell forward, perhaps in some paltry attempt to cover a broken man... but she caught me. She caught my worries and my mistakes. She caught my triumphs and my failures. She caught my thoughts and my feelings and my tears and my joys. She caught me in all my forms. She caught me in her wings. Then she taught me to fly.