Gift of the wings

She is my heart, walking on the outside of me. I feel everything she feels, see everything she sees, love everything she loves, yet that cannot be true. Her wings are my gift and I must watch her fly. Fly she does. Soars, rises majestically, breathing in the crackling magic only the young and gifted are allowed to breathe. It fills her. A request to read her words. Sitting in her chair, pale light glowing in the evening hours, her talent before me on the page. These beautiful moments. Her wings are my gift, these memories mine.