I knew you wouldn't be able to catch me in my fall.

We would just fall together, all the way to the rock bottom.

And not the kind of falling that is associated with love.

The opposite.

Not towards something, but away from something.

The kind of togetherness that feels like you're fighting for something that's already lost.

The kind that's confusing and unclear, yet you continue to try to put language to it.

And for a while I thought at least I'd get to look into your green eyes the whole way down.

And then something slowly started to emerge.

I remembered something.

But I pushed it back down, grabbed your hand and smiled at you.

You were, after all, the greatest weakness I'd met yet.

But it came again, and this time I decided to turn my attention to it as we started our free-fall descent.

Then I saw the feathers.

I felt the strength of a thousand moments strung together that ultimately built what I carry.

I realized I'd been prepared the whole time to fall.

Because I remembered:

I have wings.

But they can only carry me.