Author's notes: Aww, guys, thank you SO much for all the reviews! It makes
me very happy to know you've enjoyed the first part. You know, it's a
little hard to write a chapter when you have nothing planned; this is just
coming off the top of my head, so I hope it's okay.
Chapter 2: I mend your broken wings
When I saw the break of day I wished that I could fly away Instead of kneeling in the sand Catching teardrops in my hand
My heart is drenched in wine But you'll be on my mind Forever
~~Norah Jones
Sunlight peeks through the windows briefly before the gray clouds blind its radiance. It's ironic how something so bright, warm, and magnificent can be so easily hidden from sight; yet I shouldn't be so appalled by the irony, for it happens every morning when I wake. Clouded memories hide my angel's radiance, and she no longer tries to fight away the shadow. Each morning she awakes and proceeds with the same routine as if programmed to complete the same mission over-and-over again. Her eyelids cautiously lift, and she peers at me with her innocent yet haunting orbs to be sure that I'm sleeping - she never realizes that I listen to her every breath and feel her timid movements in those initial moments of awakening. She slowly leaves our shared bed and retreats to draw her bath; those moments with the gentle warmth of the water surrounding and caressing her seem to be one of the few times when she doesn't feel all of the pained burdens she carries. But when the water cools and her pain returns, she quickly moves on to the next phase of her morning ritual. She dresses so simply despite all I give her; she says there's no need to impress anymore, for she knows I'll adore her no matter what she puts over her figure. She quietly steps out of our room and down the staircase; it's then that I usually begin my own routine, for I know that in this phase of her morning I don't have to worry about her suddenly bursting into tears and desperately seeking comfort. She simply steps into the kitchen and makes her herbal tea, another of her simple comforts.
As the droplets of water fall all around me like an embracing mist, I can't help but become lost in a memory of my own; it's the one memory that reminds me that under all the layers of fear of doubt, my angel is still capable of love. One night not too long after that day, she was plagued by too many memories; she kept trembling unable to control her body due to the emotions that created such havoc on her both inside and out. I told her that all the other angels in heaven cried with her, and she said that wasn't possible. I asked her if she trusted me, and she slowly nodded, unable then to speak any words regarding trust in her fragile state. I told her to close her eyes, which she did although timidly, and I led her outside onto the beach as a light mist had started to fall. "Look," I whispered, and she slowly opened her eyes and took in each and every innocent droplet that fell from the heavens; "They cry for you, Sydney. They weep for all you've been through. They sob for not rescuing you."
"They did rescue me," she replied, as tears of own rolled down her cheeks and mixed with the raindrops. "They sent you to me."
It was at that moment that I saw a spark from the former fire that used to constantly blaze in her eyes. Tears of angels fell rapidly around us when we shared our first true, pure kiss of passion and pain. Those moments seemed to last for hours as our arms entwined around each other desperately wanting to be closer and longing to never be separated from that rarely attainable closeness.
"They're still crying," she whispered in such a haunting, innocent tone as she rested her head against my chest. "Why do they cry for me now?"
"Tears of joy," I whispered back, gently kissing her forehead. "They cry tears of joy for us."
As the raindrops continue to fall in my memory, the steamy mist around me ends. I wrap a towel around my waist and as I step into our bedroom, I hear the downstairs door closing. It's magnificent, I muse, how our schedules are perfectly timed to each other's, yet I wonder if she has ever noticed that feat. I peer through the window and take in the view; anyone else would naturally appreciate the gentle morning light glinting against the ocean as the waves lap against the shore, but all I gaze at is my angel sitting in the sand staring out at the endless waters as she slowly sips her warm tea.
I take my time getting dressed although I long to be there beside her; she needs time alone in order to properly heal, but I agonize through those moments. I long to know her every thought and her every feeling; perhaps if I possessed such knowledge, then I could heal her wounds myself. Despite my longings, I know quite well that the only force strong enough to restore her spirit to its former glory is time; I find this especially difficult since I have never been renowned as a patient man.
Staring into the mirror only evokes a dismal image in my mind; as I look at the man who peers back at me, I find myself wondering if despite all my efforts, I will never be what my angel needs. I wonder if when she gazes at me, she sees only the man she loves or the reputation that is bound to him. As I finish buttoning my white, collared shirt, I'm curious to know what will become of us once she recovers from the trauma. Will she return to her former life even though she vowed not to; if she does, will she return to her previous devotion to the rules that kept us apart? Throughout my life, I have never been particularly close to another; I had no need to for that closeness except when the natural inclinations for warmth and affection got the best of me, but even then, I rarely indulged those longings. But since that day, I feel as though somehow my soul was entwined with hers; if I lose her, I'll only be half the man I am today. She loves me, I remind myself; she's merely trapped in the effects of trauma still. I close my eyes and travel back to that night when our long-denied passion and pain collided; she loves me, but will she always?
Thunder rumbles faintly, as if to alert me to the storm that is quickly brewing in my own soul; but I ignore the tumultuous stirrings inside. Instead I walk down the staircase with the intent to free my angel whether she will appreciate it for eternity or not. Loving an angel - my angel - is to love the most precious, rare beauty in the world; to be loved by angel is to experience the famed and nearly unfathomable love of perfection in its purest form. To know that there are those who don't love her as she should be loved - to know that the few who supposedly loved her would hurt her to the point of trauma - it makes me sick inside. To know that she may return to those who hurt her instead of remaining in my arms sickens me as well.
Slowly I step through the door and close it gently behind me; my gaze rests on her as she sits in the sand with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting against her kneecaps. She lifts her head up for a moment to sip her tea then returns back into her position. With its infinitely haunting yet gentle caress, the wind tosses her soft, brown tresses around and seems to whisper its mystic words into her ears alone.
"You're beautiful," I whisper into her ear, mimicking the wind's gentle caress as I wrap my arms around her.
"You're upset with me," she replies, staring ahead at the ocean and the gray clouds hovering above it.
"I'm not," I reply, "what makes you say that?"
"I can feel it," she whispers, slowly turning her tear-filled gaze to meet mine. "Please don't lie to me. You're upset. Why?"
I sigh, knowing that I can not avoid her simple question especially when she gazes at me in such a manner. I sit next to her in the glistening, white sand, pulling her against me and say, "I've just been lost in memories of my own; my insecurities have been getting the best of me this morning."
My angel suddenly moves out of my grasp and kneels in the sand; she gazes at me so passionately it pierces through to my very essence. Her trembling hands wrap around mine as she whispers, "I have to tell you something, but I'm afraid. I don't want anything to happen to you. like it did to him. I love you, I truly do, and I need you to believe me. You are the reason why I'm alive; if you hadn't been there. that night. I wouldn't have stood a chance. I know I'm still not much, but one day I'll get better - I'll get better for you."
Tears trickle down my love's paling cheeks; I reach to wipe them away, but she keeps her trembling hold upon my hand. "Don't lose your faith in me," she pleads. "Without you, I'm nothing."
I long to reply with the poetic metaphors that have been bouncing back- and-forth against the walls of my mind, but fate offers no such chance for conversational poetry. A warm, gentle mist falls from the heavens, and a hint of that initial spark from her former fire twinkles in her eyes.
"The angels cry. they cry tears of joy because you love me," I whisper to her as our tears mix with the raindrops, and my cherished memory is suddenly resurrected. At first, I gently kiss away her tears, but the innocent, butterfly kisses turn into another that intertwines our very essences together. All the pain and insecurity, the fear and the trauma vanish as the thunder rumbles and the lightning illuminates the clouded sky.
Chapter 2: I mend your broken wings
When I saw the break of day I wished that I could fly away Instead of kneeling in the sand Catching teardrops in my hand
My heart is drenched in wine But you'll be on my mind Forever
~~Norah Jones
Sunlight peeks through the windows briefly before the gray clouds blind its radiance. It's ironic how something so bright, warm, and magnificent can be so easily hidden from sight; yet I shouldn't be so appalled by the irony, for it happens every morning when I wake. Clouded memories hide my angel's radiance, and she no longer tries to fight away the shadow. Each morning she awakes and proceeds with the same routine as if programmed to complete the same mission over-and-over again. Her eyelids cautiously lift, and she peers at me with her innocent yet haunting orbs to be sure that I'm sleeping - she never realizes that I listen to her every breath and feel her timid movements in those initial moments of awakening. She slowly leaves our shared bed and retreats to draw her bath; those moments with the gentle warmth of the water surrounding and caressing her seem to be one of the few times when she doesn't feel all of the pained burdens she carries. But when the water cools and her pain returns, she quickly moves on to the next phase of her morning ritual. She dresses so simply despite all I give her; she says there's no need to impress anymore, for she knows I'll adore her no matter what she puts over her figure. She quietly steps out of our room and down the staircase; it's then that I usually begin my own routine, for I know that in this phase of her morning I don't have to worry about her suddenly bursting into tears and desperately seeking comfort. She simply steps into the kitchen and makes her herbal tea, another of her simple comforts.
As the droplets of water fall all around me like an embracing mist, I can't help but become lost in a memory of my own; it's the one memory that reminds me that under all the layers of fear of doubt, my angel is still capable of love. One night not too long after that day, she was plagued by too many memories; she kept trembling unable to control her body due to the emotions that created such havoc on her both inside and out. I told her that all the other angels in heaven cried with her, and she said that wasn't possible. I asked her if she trusted me, and she slowly nodded, unable then to speak any words regarding trust in her fragile state. I told her to close her eyes, which she did although timidly, and I led her outside onto the beach as a light mist had started to fall. "Look," I whispered, and she slowly opened her eyes and took in each and every innocent droplet that fell from the heavens; "They cry for you, Sydney. They weep for all you've been through. They sob for not rescuing you."
"They did rescue me," she replied, as tears of own rolled down her cheeks and mixed with the raindrops. "They sent you to me."
It was at that moment that I saw a spark from the former fire that used to constantly blaze in her eyes. Tears of angels fell rapidly around us when we shared our first true, pure kiss of passion and pain. Those moments seemed to last for hours as our arms entwined around each other desperately wanting to be closer and longing to never be separated from that rarely attainable closeness.
"They're still crying," she whispered in such a haunting, innocent tone as she rested her head against my chest. "Why do they cry for me now?"
"Tears of joy," I whispered back, gently kissing her forehead. "They cry tears of joy for us."
As the raindrops continue to fall in my memory, the steamy mist around me ends. I wrap a towel around my waist and as I step into our bedroom, I hear the downstairs door closing. It's magnificent, I muse, how our schedules are perfectly timed to each other's, yet I wonder if she has ever noticed that feat. I peer through the window and take in the view; anyone else would naturally appreciate the gentle morning light glinting against the ocean as the waves lap against the shore, but all I gaze at is my angel sitting in the sand staring out at the endless waters as she slowly sips her warm tea.
I take my time getting dressed although I long to be there beside her; she needs time alone in order to properly heal, but I agonize through those moments. I long to know her every thought and her every feeling; perhaps if I possessed such knowledge, then I could heal her wounds myself. Despite my longings, I know quite well that the only force strong enough to restore her spirit to its former glory is time; I find this especially difficult since I have never been renowned as a patient man.
Staring into the mirror only evokes a dismal image in my mind; as I look at the man who peers back at me, I find myself wondering if despite all my efforts, I will never be what my angel needs. I wonder if when she gazes at me, she sees only the man she loves or the reputation that is bound to him. As I finish buttoning my white, collared shirt, I'm curious to know what will become of us once she recovers from the trauma. Will she return to her former life even though she vowed not to; if she does, will she return to her previous devotion to the rules that kept us apart? Throughout my life, I have never been particularly close to another; I had no need to for that closeness except when the natural inclinations for warmth and affection got the best of me, but even then, I rarely indulged those longings. But since that day, I feel as though somehow my soul was entwined with hers; if I lose her, I'll only be half the man I am today. She loves me, I remind myself; she's merely trapped in the effects of trauma still. I close my eyes and travel back to that night when our long-denied passion and pain collided; she loves me, but will she always?
Thunder rumbles faintly, as if to alert me to the storm that is quickly brewing in my own soul; but I ignore the tumultuous stirrings inside. Instead I walk down the staircase with the intent to free my angel whether she will appreciate it for eternity or not. Loving an angel - my angel - is to love the most precious, rare beauty in the world; to be loved by angel is to experience the famed and nearly unfathomable love of perfection in its purest form. To know that there are those who don't love her as she should be loved - to know that the few who supposedly loved her would hurt her to the point of trauma - it makes me sick inside. To know that she may return to those who hurt her instead of remaining in my arms sickens me as well.
Slowly I step through the door and close it gently behind me; my gaze rests on her as she sits in the sand with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting against her kneecaps. She lifts her head up for a moment to sip her tea then returns back into her position. With its infinitely haunting yet gentle caress, the wind tosses her soft, brown tresses around and seems to whisper its mystic words into her ears alone.
"You're beautiful," I whisper into her ear, mimicking the wind's gentle caress as I wrap my arms around her.
"You're upset with me," she replies, staring ahead at the ocean and the gray clouds hovering above it.
"I'm not," I reply, "what makes you say that?"
"I can feel it," she whispers, slowly turning her tear-filled gaze to meet mine. "Please don't lie to me. You're upset. Why?"
I sigh, knowing that I can not avoid her simple question especially when she gazes at me in such a manner. I sit next to her in the glistening, white sand, pulling her against me and say, "I've just been lost in memories of my own; my insecurities have been getting the best of me this morning."
My angel suddenly moves out of my grasp and kneels in the sand; she gazes at me so passionately it pierces through to my very essence. Her trembling hands wrap around mine as she whispers, "I have to tell you something, but I'm afraid. I don't want anything to happen to you. like it did to him. I love you, I truly do, and I need you to believe me. You are the reason why I'm alive; if you hadn't been there. that night. I wouldn't have stood a chance. I know I'm still not much, but one day I'll get better - I'll get better for you."
Tears trickle down my love's paling cheeks; I reach to wipe them away, but she keeps her trembling hold upon my hand. "Don't lose your faith in me," she pleads. "Without you, I'm nothing."
I long to reply with the poetic metaphors that have been bouncing back- and-forth against the walls of my mind, but fate offers no such chance for conversational poetry. A warm, gentle mist falls from the heavens, and a hint of that initial spark from her former fire twinkles in her eyes.
"The angels cry. they cry tears of joy because you love me," I whisper to her as our tears mix with the raindrops, and my cherished memory is suddenly resurrected. At first, I gently kiss away her tears, but the innocent, butterfly kisses turn into another that intertwines our very essences together. All the pain and insecurity, the fear and the trauma vanish as the thunder rumbles and the lightning illuminates the clouded sky.