Monday, December 12, 2016


the first time he came to me was in my sleep. he had feathers the color of coal and wings that smelled of salt. his skin, even with all of its scars, appeared to glow under the moon. months later i found him wingless on the beach, his back still bleeding. he said the water called him to me, waves guiding him to my shore. i brought him home that night, and every night after. i would fall asleep to the sound of his voice, dreaming of his wings. he'd be gone by sunrise, but always returned with the moon.

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