A Fallen Angel with clipped wings.
That was my first thought when I saw her. How can an angel be roaming the land that I call home? Even as her dark wings stretch in the sun’s light, I never once believe she was anything but.
Gorgeous black hair cascaded down to brush her shoulders with each light step she took. Deep, dark and listless eyes bore into yours like it was reflecting the night sky in the countryside. And her features were sharp and chiseled but in certain lights it would be as if they soften a little. As if she was carved from an accent rock to bless the world with her beauty. Not meant to be touched and not meant to be broken.
Just…preserved.
Seeing her was like seeing your childhood dreams morph into reality. When I wished upon a star as a little girl, or when I blew out the candles as their wax started to drip onto my birthday cakes, I didn't realize I was wishing for her.
When she whispered against my skin, it was like a remedy soothing your aching heart and mind like a high tide of a riverbank.
“Hey, can I- can I ask you something?”
Her pink lips whisper against the heated skin on my neck.
“Always.”
She pauses as she holds my hands in hers.
“When there’s a day that…that I’m not here, I want you to smile. Can you be happy? Even when I’m not here?”
What an odd question, I thought.
My only source of happiness is the small smile this Fallen Angel graces me with so often when we’re together. How could I ever think of a life without it?
And I guess, looking back now, that was her sign to me.
But when I look back it always feels like a dream.
“So Granny,”
The small child on my lap, with those same eyes, stared back up at me.
“Who’s that lady in the picture with you?”
As I look from the girl to the picture in my hand I’m reminded of truths I’ve long lost.
That small smile was the source of my happiness and the innocence of my youth.
She knew who she was to me before I even knew.
“Someone Granny truly loved. Very…very much.”
I let out an empty laugh as I looked out the window, rain falling and fogging the air.
“A Fallen Angel.”
“Fallen Angel? What does that mean? Where is she?”
I pat the girl's head as I let the truth finally settle.
“Where all Fallen Angels go, my love. Where they feel at worth.”
And how I prayed that was true for you.
My Fallen Angel with clipped wings.
This blog post reflects the opinions of the author and does not necessarily represent the views of Brooklyn Public Library.
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