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Flight path
...written on 2009-02-06, @ 9:36 p.m.
An angel died last night. Her frail wings beat the air like old women knocking dust loose. A surprisingly powerful thwap resonates but beneath it one cannot hear the dim echo of a heartbeat.
We thrust metaphysical hands in to save her. Perform open heart surgery in a closed chest to no avail. Pour love like nitroglycerin into the screaming thing.
We see her hurt, fade, as a new love dies. Each trembling word lost in a fury of insults. She cries and screams and begs for them and not for her. Selfless to the end.
"Please god, let them love!" And her heart reaches out desperately and claims she loved them once. Loves them still.
They are crying now, furious and wounded, mourning a thing once beautiful. He smoothes her hair and she tangles her fingers in the holes and buttons on his shirt. Great hopeless sobs.
And she smiles then. They will survive and a memory most fond sees her past the darkness.
We never know how mighty are our wills. In the moments when we crumble, someone suffers for us and in the moment that we love, we grow wings.