Two birds land beside me.
Not circling in the air to look down on me. Not fleeing. Not accusing. They… join me.
The tern— Alcyone. The Wind carried her away from here. And now she has returned. With a storm petrel.
I recognize that soul…
Ceyx.
I feel their weight settle next to me. I brace for words—sharp, deserved, condemning. But none come. Only silence. Just the soft lean of the storm petrel’s head against my shoulder. The brush of a wing along my arm. A breath shared between us— wordless and impossibly warm.
“Don’t.” The word slips through gritted teeth.
“Go.” Sharper now. “Please—don’t forget what I’ve done to you.”
But they remain.
I press my palms hard into the stone. Try to hold my body still, composed... as if stillness could redeem me.
Why are they here? Why aren’t they afraid?
I ruined them. Tore at them with hands I thought were gentle. I—
A tremor moves up my arms.
“I don’t…” I clench my jaw. My voice is thin. “I don’t deserve this.”
Ceyx lowers his head again. Leans closer.
I recoil, quick and ugly.
“Don’t… do that.” I hiss, more at myself than him.
He withdraws... not in fear, but grace. He settles back. Gives me space. But doesn’t leave. Neither does she.
Why?
The silence thickens. My sorrow coils into something harder.
I grit my teeth. I stare at the bridge beneath me. My hands are shaking.
“I was so cruel,” I snap. “Not because I hated you— but because she told me to.”
My voice breaks open.
“She said you were broken. Fleeting. Mistakes. And I believed her.”
I laugh. It splinters in the air.
“She said I was mercy.”
I wipe at my face. My hand doesn’t stop trembling.
“She lied. Obviously. Obvious to everyone but me.”
They do not answer. But still, they remain.
I stare at them.
Ceyx, quiet, unmoving. Alcyone, head tilted. Still.
Why?
“I hurt you.” My voice is lower now. Threadbare.
“I’ve only ever caused pain. Because I wasn’t strong like you. You endured.”
My fists curl.
“You… Ceyx, you were taken and yet you still refused to be consumed. And you, Alcyone, even after being blamed, all alone, you never stopped looking.”
My voice shakes.
“And the Wind...” I pause. Swallow hard. “He faced what I ran from. He fought her. He gave you wings.”
I shake my head.
“I couldn’t even hold onto memory.”
My breath stutters.
“I’m worthless.”
Silence.
But they’re still here.
And… so am I.
I look past the edge of the bridge. And I lean toward the distance.
Let myself fold forward. Arms braced against the cold. Head bowed.
It isn’t punishment. Just rest.
I don’t rise.
I don’t run.
I exhale.
And I feel it.
Soft feathers at my arm again.
Ceyx, sitting upon my shoulder.
Alcyone, closer now, resting against my side.
This time, I do not pull away.
I let them stay.
I close my eyes.
They are warm.
They are real.
And they wait beside me.
The Wind said he would return. I did not understand. But I still believe him. I still have faith in him. That’s all I have.
This faith.
They haven’t left. And I’m still here.
I don’t know what that means.
But maybe it means I can wait.
Even if I don’t deserve to.
We sit. Three quiet shapes. Softened by something I cannot name.
We wait. For the one who gave them wings... the one I’ve somehow forgotten.
Not because it’s easy. Not because I am ready. But because...
Well, I want to see him again. I want to remember him. And patience is what it takes for that to happen.
So I stay.
I wait.
...
I have held empires in stillness,
But this waiting...
...
Waiting is a ***** to bear.
How in this **** universe am I supposed to be patient?
...
But there’s nothing I can do about it now, is there?
And The Wind, he’s the one fighting. He’s the one facing her, fate. He’s the one who gave them wings, who left so I wouldn’t have to return to my miserable ignorance…
This pain, is nothing compared to what you’re going through…
And even if the magnitude of this pain rose to meet infinity…
He…
He’s worth it.
So alright, let’s wait together.
At least…
At least I’m not alone.
Let it be said that silence was never soft.
That the weight of a blade, once set down,
May still echo through the bones of its wielder.
That what sharpens in waiting is not always weapon nor warning,
But something quieter, more human, and infinitely harder to hold.
This is the thirteenth challenge, for 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔,
Where patience cuts deeper than steel.
Patience,
Whether elegant or profane,
Is still a virtue.
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/