He had wings.

Every morning I would rise to see those beautiful wings. The sight of the sun and those long feathers kissing the sky, brought joy to my heavy eyelids.

Several mornings had long since passed, he was no longer seen. My head gave way, my body ached, I'd simply lay back in bed. Where was He?

He was gone.

I slept in, my face covered with disappointment. Apathy licked away the tears. And in my dreams, he visited me again.

He was different.

His wings were black and faded. His body torn and skeletal. My eyes could feel what punishment time had done to Him. I speak, I say: "What happened to your wings?"

His response was not immediate, however he did eventually reply. I waited and I stared. The piercing silence burned my ears, until finally, he mutters: "No hope; nothing left of myself."

A silky black cloak is placed over the sun and He radiates with the moon's glow. He extends his wings and it's no longer a dream. RED blooms as He rips off his wings. "Sometimes it's better to walk", He says.

"You don't need wings to fly", He stares blankly, seemingly puzzled by the remark, "Those wings may have been beautiful, but that isn't why I woke up every morning to see you. The hope in your eyes; the will. It motivated me." His eyes were now glassed over with apathy; His wings shriveled into dust. He stands up, and begins walking towards the exit.

He didn't listen to reason.

Nothing got through at all.

He says: "I never asked for this. I don't want it anymore."

I ask: "Will I see you again?"

"I don't know." He says.