Wings by Lferion

Wings

You offered me water once, in your cupped hands. More than water, love, hope, life itself. I love your hands, you know. I hope you know. I hope I can tell you (again, for the first or fourth or four hundredth time).

You offered me — offer yet! — comfort, warmth, the curve of your pinioned shoulder for my head, the feathered span of your wing to shelter me. Manwë gave you wings: why do you still fly toward me, and not away? Who am I, now, that you could love me still?

(You will never not be someone that I love.)