My Angels

By Ed Pilolla

I chased so many fallen angels. Too many. Or just enough. Either way, it was like an addiction. The charred eyes of a fallen angel did something to me.

The angel fell and I followed, off the ridge of the mountain, the angel gliding downward on her sharp wings, me torpedoing into my latest crater.

Crash-landing like that takes a toll. Oh, the headaches.

Sure, I touched faces with the most golden eyes. I brushed the feathers of the darkest light. These bruises over my body I believed were the markings of love, for so long I believed this.

I will always have a special place in my heart for the fallen, for those who have sinned and wonder if they can change, for those who rest and rehabilitate behind the great barriers of the heart. I know the shape of their wings well.

But I fly upward now. I have learned how. It begins with emptying one’s chest of all the dead weight. The beauty in flying with another lies in the thing that allows us to rise together:

Trust, again.

Come.

This piece was inspired by a photograph posted by Wine and Words.

Reminders

The sun sets upon the ocean with a flash. I catch the ocean breeze in my hand and it reminds me of you. The waves are small but the repetitive sound calms me.

I could sit here forever. The sand is still a bit warm from the midday sun, but as my toes dig in the layers are cool. I welcome the cold air that comes with the moons rise. It reminds me that I am not numb, I feel.

We have been to this location on the beach at this time of night before. I wonder if you ever think about it. I loved it, although you didn’t think so. You thought that I hated the cold too much to enjoy myself. You always thought you knew me so well.

Little did you know, I compared the wonders of the ocean and the beauty of the night sky to you. That was before I really got to know you.

Still, I am in awe of the stars in the night sky and how small they are.

And, I’m amazed at how small you are too.