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My Fallen Angel

Your memory sticks to me like cobwebs. I scratch my face long after your touch is cold, clutching at old ghosts, slivers of gray mist. The last time I found you was when I upturned a black stone in the middle of the ocean. Then, I stepped on one of those fish that look like rocks, and I almost died. Somewhere in the middle of my near-death hallucinations, a little before I saw the light and then came back, sucking air in large gulps, I saw your face bent over mine, your lips inches away from my lips. An instant later, I was you, and you were me, and we were each other, and the whole world was a swirl of misshapen memories. I thought I had died and my soul was traveling the seven skies.

I found you when I was a lost child trapped in the body of an ancient woman. You traced your fingers through the air and made music. I heard the beautiful lamenting sound, and became so possessed by your hands, moving as though they were liquid swords slashing through satin that I began to cry like a baby. You told me to weep to my heart’s content, and then appreciate every note, every key, every octave. When I was spent and could cry no more, I looked into your eyes and appreciated you, for you were better than all music.

You were the first one to call me a writer, and after that I wrote about the whole world, about the beauty in hills and rivers, and in a single iris, about faeries and goblins, and the gods of old. I wrote and wrote and wrote until my fingers started to bleed. I wrote about the skies and the earth and all that lies in between, but I kept coming back to you. My Fallen Angel. I kept coming back to the smile on your face that never quite reached your eyes, because you kept happiness at arm’s length. You thought you would lose the magicks you held inside your heart, the magicks that made your pen flow and your voice sing, if you let happiness truly consume you. But pain consumes you, too, I said. It has done the best it can, you said, I have given it love in return — it has become a part of my soul. And then you smiled your Fallen Angel smile and I got lost once more in the halo of your existence as it looped around mine.
You held the pain of the world in the middle of your palm, and told me to touch it. It felt thick in my hands like golden honey in the hands of a bee-charmer. I asked you if I could keep a little bit of your pain with me for inspiration. I promised that if you let me have it, I would celebrate it just like you did. But you said no — you said I was too young. But I was born eons ago, I said. I remember when the sun was a different color, and the wind swept a barren earth. I met Hades when he came to collect his souls, and I saw Persephone in her predicament. I saw Kali when she fought her battles, and I knew Athena and the Furies. I was a familiar of the gods of old, remember? You and I used to walk together through broken temples. Don’t you remember you touched some dirt once, and a moment later it bloomed into beautiful jasmines. You made a crown of the flowers and twigs and put it over my hair. I was born eons ago, I said. And you said I was too young. You said I had not seen the fire as you had. You said you had seen deities and devils that were older than any language or thought. You said I could not have your pain. I never forgave you for that. I smiled at you and touched your eyes, but I never forgave you for trying to protect me.
Then, I lost you to the ages, and I have spent all my days looking for you ever since. My days are longer than decades and there is very little sun in my path. I ride the night and the clouds, looking for you. I stole some fire from the center of the earth and I carry it on my palm to find you in its light. I find you sometimes, like I did in the middle of the ocean when you were under an old stone. I saw you for an instant before I lost all thought, and when I came back you were gone. Now, I look for you in every wildflower I see. Birds come and whisper in my ears when they see you with your fleet of wind-horses, but they gallop too fast and all I find are faint hoof prints in the air. Sometimes, I see you in the rain. I see you, my Fallen Angel when the lightening snaps the sky’s backbone in two. I see your eyes, so old, so wise, so much pain, so much love. I see your sad smile in rivers and oceans.
I hear there will be a full moon shining over the world soon, and the ocean we used to walk on will be frozen over. I want to dance in your arms once again, stepping over the tide as it stands still in all its majestic beauty. There will be a full moon after many millennia and our ocean will be frozen. Meet me for a dance. Show me your sad smile once more. Tell me that story you used to tell me, and bring me a crown of jasmines. It has been an eternity since I smelled jasmines, and you know how much I love them. I have looked for you, found you, and lost you so many times that it has worn me out. I am tired, my Fallen Angel, and your memory sticks to me like cobwebs. Hold my hand and lead the dance. Let me rest a little in your arms, and let us talk once again about music and pain, about love and poetry, about divinities and demons, about you and me. Come back to me, my Fallen Angel.