Wings

He got little wings. He resembled those little angels from Valentine’s Day’s cards. But he had to hide his wings because it was not normal. He never let his mother hug him ever since he noticed his first feathers; he also tried to avoid being seen nude. He hat to use a large dressing gown so nobody could see him after a shower. He had to wear loose clothes and walk very erect so his wings would not be seen in the streets.

His wings were little when he was little. Every time he was alone he examined his wings, touched them, felt them and tried to move them which he could once in a while.

When he was with his parents nobody noticed anything. Sometimes even he forgot about this. He went to school, talked with his classmates, played soccer and fell in love as any common child. He was naive at that time, he did not know the world, he was blind and his wings were white as moonlight.

As the time went on, his wings became bigger and larger. His pure color white went gray, dark gray. Every time he heard something he did not know but suspected about, his feathers went a little darker. But his was so subtle that he did not realize when the white disappeared. Lie by lie purity was lost.

At times he almost forgot about that too. There were days when a hug from her would make him go blank about it. She would kiss him now and then and he would be hers. No matter how large his wings were now, it would not be a problem.

She was the one who erased his wings, the one who melted them with her fire. He was deeply grateful to her from liberating him of that. She was all he needed and all he wanted. He was free at last; he had a reason to live. Then her love faded along with his smile. The wings reappeared blacker, bigger and stronger.

He had nobody to make him forget his wings.

This time he was alone, seen as a weird creature, as an odd mixture of things.

Sometimes I have to remember that I believed in love, but it was long ago when my wings were too little and too clear to be seen.