Fairy wings

I dream. She calls me. She is beautiful in the classic way, tiny and blonde; wise, yet cute like a child. Her feet are small and graceful. Fearing her already, I make a move to introduce myself in a way that shows how sorry I am for taking what I did from her. She doesn't notice. Emboldened, I press further. She flies at me, her delicate wings beating indignantly and her mouth open in a gaping sharp scream. I understand in that instant she wants to kill me; she wishes I were dead. I try to fight back, because I didn't know what it meant when I took it. It was so insignificant to both of us. And now I understand its meaning. So does she, now that I took it from the place where she had dropped it, worn from use. I eventually repaired it lovingly, although in some ways it will always be hers, which is why I think she fights. I have no claim on it. Suddenly she stops smothering me the way she has with fear, and I gather that I have communicated some of this meaning to her. In a flurry of time and edges I understand that she holds something I will not find, not in the trinket I now possess or elsewhere, and that we can reconcile without it. We bind, and for once I feel strong and sure.

I wake. She is gone. In a sigh I discover that these things are real. I have taken on her burden, but in the context of dry ground I can no longer float the way I can in dream mist. Deflating, I see that all I can ever hope to cling to is the small trinket over which we would have fought. I turn to my side and look it over. I think it mourns our loss.