To Fly With Clipped Wings Her ragged, inconsistent breaths woke me up. Her chest rattled as she inhaled and exhaled, her chest heaving slightly. I looked down at ny hands. How could it be that the same hands that I used for making love could stain my own wife in black and blue? It was almost as if she was drowning even though there was no water. As if her lungs were closing up against her will but she was desperate to have her last breath even if it killed her. She was a fighter. But she never fought back. Apprehensive, I placed my hand on her waist, hoping I wouldn't wake her. Every time I touched her she would flinch. I thought I felt her inch herself away from me and the first of many tears fell. How could it be that her touch used to light me up? Like an inferno of raw love and lust. Her tears the gasoline, my love its fuel. Now, nothing. Silent sobs rippled through my body. It's funny how you can appear so put together but inside everything is crumbling down; a hollow shell of the person you used to be. We used to be the perfect couple- we accepted our flaws and turned them into something beautiful. But scars run deep and eventually resurface. I turned around so my back faced her, closing my eyes. It'd been a long time since she had shown me affection. It was all my fault. I drowned my woes and sorrow in a bottle of the strongest alcohol I could find whilst she drowned herself in her tears. She deserved more than this, more than I could possibly give her. So I decided to set her free. That night, she was free of my troubles. That night, I set her free.