I remember the first time I saw an angel. It was night, and I was wishing on a falling star.
Those are the times that my heart still beats the rhythm of myths and dragons, of fairies and fairytales, and of angels and fallen stars. My heart is still so young and naïve then that I would believe I could fly and grow wings out of my back if someone would tell me so.
He kissed my tears away while my eyes are closed as I wished upon a falling star.
“Be brave,” he whispered. His lips grazed lightly on my forehead, and I heard the first stirrings of my innocent heart.
I caught a glimpse of him before he completely vanished into thin air.
He has beautiful auburn hair.
Coal black wings.
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In response to Inspiration Monday: Angel Hair.