My hands ran over the silk his skin was, and I urge to
pull him into embrace, so hard it’d merge us into one.
Still, I don’t dare. He’s so fragile, so delicate,
like a beautiful statue that you can only worship but
never touch. Like any touch I’ll provide would bring
him into the sin. Then, wasn’t he the sin himself?
The gorgeous fallen angel, who fell from the night sky
into the unworthy hands of mortal being like me. What
have I done to deserve him, to touch the beauty he is?
Here, he lays on my chest, light like a feather, silky
auburn hair falling over my skin, dark strand tickling
my nipple as my chest rises and falls. Here he is, his
delicate fingers almost on my shoulder, pale on the
background of my heavily tanned skin.
When I found him, he was so lost. Lost in the world
that was so unlike the night sky he belonged to. The
world that fed off him, tried to spoil him, to break
him. But fragile as he was, each time he found enough
strength to get up and go on with the life, with his
wings broken and soul wracked.
That was how I found him, crashed down again,
gathering strength to get up and take several more
steps before life pushes him down on the dirty
pavement. And I reached out my hand, and he took it,
and I didn’t let him fall again. The time passed, and
the hope I placed in his heart healed him, and the
moment came when he straightened up and spread out his
dark angel wings, and the world shook at the sight of
the beauty he was.
And I shook too, from the thought all that beauty was
mine. From the very first hair on his head to the
pinky finger on his delicate toes. He was mine, and I
wanted the world to know it. And I pulled him tighter
against my chest, warming his small body with the heat
of mine, and I knew whatever happens he’ll be still
with me. Until I die. Because I knew I’d die the
moment he leaves me.