Fallen

One day, I saw an angel fall. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. Cloudy grey wings closed around a pale frame as the angel fell, an exquisite porcelain doll against the sky. I wondered if he would ever grace the earth with his presence.

That day, I saw a fallen angel. His bloody beauty was out of place with his rocky surroundings. Rocky surroundings that I both eagerly struggled to climb and hid behind, acutely aware of my own grubby appearance. But I reached him. His alabaster face was chiseled into a stark beauty by the hand of God. I wondered who my angel was.

For days after that, every day, I visited my angel. And every day his magnificence caught my breath in my throat. He never moved from his sprawled state, wings spread languidly on either side of his bare chest. I blushed every time I caught myself letting my wandering gaze drink in that gorgeous expanse of skin. Only his face could capture my interest more. His eyes were closed, and I imagined that the faintly veined eyelids hid inky dark eyes. Long lashes cast delicate shadows on high cheek bones, tickled by bluish black hair that hugged his face and spiked out in the back. A slightly pointed nose evenly divided his face. Pale lips curved into a knowing smirk. Dark blood stained the corner of his lips and his long fingers, curved tightly into fists, a contrast to his peaceful countenance. I often talked to my angel, telling him about my life and dreams. He listened patiently. Other times, I just stared, basking in the ethereal, prostrate figure. I wondered if Paradise missed my perfect angel.

A day not longer after the first, I realized that I had fallen too. Fallen in love with a fallen angel that I knew nothing about. I wondered if I had just imagined the faint smile on his face when I told him that I loved him.