"One day, I'm gonna grow wings" by PQHAÜS

"One day, I'm gonna grow wings" by PQHAÜS

(Acrylic on canvas / 16x20 inches / 2025)

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You snapped them in half and set them on fire right in front of me. You burnt the feathers to ashes, then pushed me off the cliff and told me to fly, told me to rise higher, last longer, breathe lighter. While others floated through the sky with ease, their laughter carried by the wind, I was on the ground, bleeding through my scraped knees, sewing my torn back together where my wings used to be. I wasn’t afraid of falling anymore. I was afraid of forgetting what it felt like to soar.

The threads I used to stitch myself became something else, tight around my throat, whispering of the comfort everyone warned me not to chase. But I was tired of the silence that followed every scream I swallowed. My body ached like a home collapsing, every breath scraping against the memory of who I used to be. My skin was paper thin over the guilt, the grief, the wanting. My heart kept rowing even as my mind begged to sink. I was the captain of a doomed ship, watching the ocean rise over my head while the people behind me fought to live. They rowed until their bones gave out, and I just stood there, letting the salt fill my lungs.

And when my wings grew back, they didn’t feel like salvation. They felt like scars that learned how to lift themselves. I didn’t ask for permission this time. I didn’t need applause or proof that I was strong enough to stay in the air. I just flew. Not because I wanted to reach the sun, but because I had already burned in its fire and somehow survived.