How should I hold my face? Should I brush my hair? Wear a yellow ribbon as a noose around my neck. Should I smile just in case you see me standing there. How would that look?
I watch her face with the sound turned down. The breeze lifts the yellow ribbon in her hair, it flutters playfully in the seaside town where nothing bad ever happens.
When I tell people that I am an Angel they usually smile, vaguely. It doesn’t matter if they believe me or not. Because I am, and Denial doesn’t alter the Truth, however much it shakes its head.
This is the gospel truth! As I sat at her feet in the pool of her shadow, lit warm by her smile convinced it was me that remembered wrongly. Ran my fingers through veiled hair finer than silk