The Day I Met My Angel

My Angel My angel guides me. My angel may hide me. My angel would never lie to me. For I wish you could have met my angel that day— how she embraced my soul with the grace of the wind every time it blows. She is the blistering cold when it snows, the petal that falls from a single-stem rose. My angel knows I will still see her when she goes. Once the night skies become as bright as a sunrise, when all the lies fall from my eyes, I hear the echo of the wind chime and know I am running out of time. I cannot hold on to something that is not mine. My angel saw me flying. I quietly asked, “Am I dying?” She looked into my eyes and saw me there— crying. As she took my trembling hand she told me, “Yes, dear. You cannot keep hiding.”