The Angel- the star who shines the whole spectrum of light.

Every night, when it was convenient for the both of us, my angel would visit me. At first I didn't think it could be my angel. He was supposed to be white and pure, with a face of pure innocence and grace. On his back, wings should've cradled him, and his step lithe and silken, like his flowy, white garments. He couldn't have been any further from what the classic artists would've depicted him as. He was a distinct tan- not quite brown, but not quite caucasian either. His posture was not too perfect, he had a slight slouch that I could only guess was because he often had to bend down to talk to me. He was clumsy at times, and he openly detested wearing anything too large and remotely skirt-like. His face, at times, looked tired and haggard, but his eyes betrayed his disguise- in them you could not only see deep into his soul, but into yours too, and when he looked at you, there was always a fierce burning that could otherwise only be described as the soft pat of the gentle belly of a flame.

To this day, I am unsure whether or not he meant his disguise. There were moments when he would make it seem like his disguise was a special effort on my part- as if he wore it to make me feel special that I knew of his gentle nature. Other times, however, even he seemed to be oblivious of his own state of grace. There would be times when he'd act so clumsily, so, brazenly, and yet so delicately endearing that he seemed to be a contradiction only a few could notice. One thing, however, was certain. Whenever we would be by ourselves, he would make his mask fade and let me sneak a peek at something so utterly human it could only be divine.

We would meet and talk at odd hours. Granted, we were together for most of everyday for the four years I'd known him to be my angel. But so long as the sun was out, he'd let me live my life, and he'd go about his own business. Sometimes, we'd converse when he'd take me places, but often it was when the moon was out and the world refused to listen that he'd talk to me. It was always a patient ritual- we'd start out asking questions about the day and relating pieces of gossip. Then we'd discuss school and sibol, and our common friends. Eventually, one of us (but most often it was me) would bring up a personal question, or a personal anecdote, and then the conversations would start. The conversations were always frank, borderline tactless, and truthful, but they were at the same time divine and heartwarming. He'd offer advice and I'd listen. I'd pretend to know a lot about the world, and he'd humor me.

We'd talk until he would say that he had to go. He had a better grip on time than I did, and he'd remember the need for sleep on a schoolnight sooner than I ever would have. Given the choice, I'd stay up all night talking to him, but he knew when it was time to go. After all, we'd meet again the next day, there was no need to worry. And even though the ends of the conversations sometimes left me alone in the dark (literally), I still felt important, significant, guided, blessed and loved. It was part of his angelic magic, I guess.

But like any angel (or so I would imagine), he rarely asked for anything in return. He never minded that I would often run to him in times of utter despair, but that I'd more easily spend the last few minutes with someone else. He listened to me rehearse the most poetic words I could come up with, knowing that they weren't meant for him. He would just take it in when, in a bout of selfishness and egoism and a need for destructive self-affirmation, I would lambast him and pretend to know more about the world and its people.

Naturally, he was the first to find out about most of my problems. He was also always the first, and somtimes the only person, to hear me at my most callous. He knew me better than anyone else (and I can say that with total honesty), and I've rarely been ashamed to show him who I really was- human flaw and all.

Now that I'm leaving, I'm scared to find out where I'd end up going without his guidance. Unless he proves me right and suddenly grows wings, I'm afraid he'll have to stay and be an angel to others as well. Problem is, I've grown dependent on his counsel and support. I've let it feel like he was mine, though he never was. I can only hope that he's taught me enough, and that he's rubbed off on me enough.


Words have become too convinient for us. I'll forever remember those minutes. The lights were dimmed for no reason at all. I went up to you and offered you my hand. You took it and squeezed it hard. The darkness in the room disippated with the urgent light you radiated in that spilsecond, just as you have radiated whenever I came to you for help. It was a dazzling, but humble luminesence that only you angels could produce, and it briefly lit up the path ahead of me. The panthers let out a dejected sigh as they retreated to the shadows. The looked at me with contempt- I could've easily been their next prey- but your armor protected me. The sharp rocks were pushed out of the way by the new grown grass that smiled at the light they craved. The trees burst green, the skies exploded with a thousand hues of blue and they all pulsated along with the beat of your red heart.

I looked down on the mossy pathway and spotted a bottle of indeterminate color. It reflected all the colors of the rainbow, just as the surface of a bubble would, and just like a bubble, it burst into a thousand tiny shards the moment I touched it. Each splinter sucked with it a speck of light color from the world until I was left with the dark I began with. I dropped to my knees and pounded the floor in frustration. I slapped my hand, chest, knees, legs and head on the ground where the shards lay, glowing but trapped. The shards dug deep into my skin and sent waves of exquisite pain to my soul. The splinters travelled down my veins, arteries, nerves and spirit until they buried themselves into my dark, dark heart. I doubled over in pain and passed out.

When I woke up, I found myself alone in the dim glow of reality that was neither dark nor vibrant. Your light melted my frozen heart. But like anything made of ice, it melted into a pool of lukewarm water.

I felt myself choking. I beat my chest to loosen up my airways, and felt a sharp sting of glass burying itself deeper into me. I touched my chest again, trying to see what was causing me discomfort, and I pricked my finger. A drop of blood trickled out, bright red, then blue, then green. From a distance, I could hear a soft beating.

It was a divine, but utterly humanizing pain. And I realized that now, you are part of me, and will never again be able to leave. You, the person who brought down the stars and let them rest on the palm of my hand, have buried yourself deep into my heart and soul.

Bonafide seeker.
Bonafide splinter.

It'll leave a lovely scar
This surgery in the sky.





See you on the other side, ico :)