Would you like to know what it’s like to lose your wings?
First you have to imagine tasting clouds on your tongue and diving through the sky as you might dive into a pool of water on a hot summer day.
You have to imagine the sun on your face when you’re above the clouds.
You have to imagine never having to be afraid of heights.
And the wings themselves, folded on your back, soft and downy. You have slept every night of your life covered in their warmth.
Then they’re gone. Cut away. A part of you missing, a part that’s still alive and beating against a cage you can’t see.
You feel a raw pain. You are a wound that never closes.
You become plodding and slow. The kingdom you’ve lost is above you, cerulean and out of reach.
You curse the sky.
Curse the air.
Curse the girl.
And then you become the curse.