Laying on the bed waiting for her shroud to dry she misses him. Quietly but without doubt, she misses him. A tired soul possessing only moments of a life lost, wondering, am I destined to be alone? She is tiny in frame and dark brown freshly washed hair falls about her freckled shoulders. The tiny feathers from her broken wing lay lifeless on the ground, bent and buckled from the fight she lost. Her face a staggered feeling hidden under blues and reds blood has settled in the corner of her lips and she is weak. Her eyes open to search for his face in hope he would forgive her, forget her tortured hallways and horrid solemn heart. Today she rests her nakedness, her broken bones have healed and although she is a little awkward her beauty is deep and fragrant. Alone again she thinks but perhaps later he will see her, remember the little one he has so often chosen to overlook. She lifts herself off the bed and tries to find a sigh. Beneath it all is a will and want to die. Why does he keep me? she thinks, for what do I owe this constant struggle? Why am I being so punished and why does he not come when I beckon. Why are my cries for help dismissed? If it were not his choice to recognize why place me in his view? Tis hard with wings some broken, and heart- strings tangled knots. I wish he would come for me, forgive me of my obvious misgivings and remember the tiny one. God has no place for this fallen angel; she sits and waits with faltered pride. As the brittle feathers of wings not yet found fall softly to the ground, she fears her flight will never come her fight although felt soundly shall be the only flight she owns.