Writes..."When Angels Cry"

"all god's angels come to us disguised." - james russell lowell

“she’s laid out on the bed, her arms and legs extending far over the edges. she’s been in this position for hours but it was at 2:51 when she finally came to accept the fact that sleep just wasn’t coming for her this night. her body’s exhausted but her mind won’t stop racing; every night’s been the same since our first contact in more than a decade. call it fate or destiny or whatever: we’re connected and it’s the mystery of that connection that keeps her awake at night. she can’t explain it and i can’t explain it to her. but there's something between us, something that defies logic or reasoning, that's drawn us together after all these years. we both have an affinity for my writing; she loves words and the kind that i commit to paper are infectious: spreading throughout her mind like disease and leaving poetic feelings in her heart incurable. and as she thinks about the man behind the thoughts penned about her, she’s surprised to notice her nipples have hardened and now press against the fabric of her tank top. and surprised that her thong is wet and the area surrounding her becoming substantially damper; saturated enough that she decides to abandon her bed and the spot she’s left on it. she arises confused and frustrated and excited; her thoughts of me have never inspired this type of reaction from her body before. she walks towards the door of her room leading out to the balcony, discarding her clothes to the floor along the way, when she observes that the tank top and the underwear she had been wearing are both black. black...she knows black is my favorite color and she wonders if subconsciously she’d picked this particular set to wear due to some influence i have over her. she smiles to herself as she dismisses that idea and continues on her way over to the door. she opens it and the chilled night air quickly envelops her naked body. she stands there exposed and vulnerable and she suddenly realizes that’s exactly how i’ve written her. she recalls a time when i had sent her something i had written she’d been the inspiration for; just a few words to let her know that i felt she was a subject worth devoting the stroke of my pen on. and remembers that when she’d read what i'd written, she’d become overwhelmed by the sentiment i'd relayed towards her in my work. crying; with first a single tear falling from her eye, and then another; though at that time she had shed them more for the past she had lived than from a thought she had read from me...but tonight is different. tonight, as she stands naked out on her balcony, the tears she sheds are for these words...

"in this time of us re-connecting i try not to think about the time we wasted not really knowing one another when we were younger; the only thing gained from that is an appreciation for us wanting to be better than we had been. yet while i hold that appreciation close to my heart, especially when considering the relationship developing between us, it really sucks to know that there have been times when we could have been there for one another in our individual times of need. it's easy to think that based on what we know about one another today, that i am a person she feels she could turn to if she needs to talk or rant or just be listened to; but again it's easy to think that today. i ask myself was i am the person then that i am today? i think i’m close, though probably not exactly the same; i mean everything a person goes through in life affects their perspective regarding life and i’m no different. i’ve experienced things that have changed me, for the better and the worse, but i’ve always been a person who’s cared about the people i’ve held close to me. that hasn’t and won’t ever change. so i’m left to wonder if we had talked more when we were in school, if we had been closer back then, would she have come to me when she was going through difficult times? would she have offered her faith and trust by confiding in me the intimate details of her life? if we had known each other better, would she have used one, or both, of my shoulders for support when she felt she couldn't stand on her own? i always joke with her now about having two shoulders for her to cry on when we're talking about basketball but in all seriousness i'm sure the reality is once or twice during the time when we didn't occupy a space in each other's lives she'd turned to another for comfort when she was going through some personal drama. or maybe she had no one; not one single person she felt would understand her situation or her thoughts about it. i hope not...i hope that she's never felt like i have. i hope she's never experienced the loneliness that comes with feeling that people don't understand you or how you think. especially since from our conversations i've come to realize that we are of a similar mindset.

i once asked her if people accepting you for what you are was enough, or if there was something more in being understood for what you are. and she answered that someone just accepting you for what you are isn't enough, that you need to be loved and understood for the person that you are. so i don’t just accept her; she’s not normal…and i appreciate the person that she is; behind the model face and body. i understand the very core of what makes her up, even when the thing that truly makes her remarkable, her soul, is lost on everyone else. i get her. and she doesn’t just accept me; i’m not normal either…and she appreciates the person that i am; behind the brilliant mind. she understands me at my core and why i am what i am. she gets me. so it's not hard for me to see why through our interactions she's come to think of us as "kindred spirits" and i’ve come to think of us as “linked”. this thing between us goes beyond muse and artist; beyond inspiration and the inspired. she said we're friends...and that one day she could feel more for me but the truth is we're already more. i once told her i wanted to know her better than anyone ever has and i’m working on that but i think i kind of already do. because we understand one another."

"when angels visit us, we do not hear the rustle of wings, nor feel the feathery touch of the breast of a dove; but we know their presence by the love they create in our hearts." - mary baker addy

slowly she closes the door to the balcony and returns to the spot where she'd left her thoughts of me on her bed. she slips back under the sheets, still naked, only to recall pieces i've written on how i like to touch a woman and she longs to experience that touch for herself. she begins to slide her hands over her breasts and nipples, imagining her hands are my hands and her touch is my own. they continue down her sides and over her stomach, lower and lower until they reach her most intimate or areas, a place even my words can't penetrate, and they remain there until she drifts off to sleep.

“yes, i'm a great believer in angels.” - anna lee

i too, believe in angels… and that heaven is eternal… but mostly i believe that the bond of understanding that we’ve discovered between us will last just as long."

"when angels cry, they shed tears over words that invoke powerful emotions inside of them. i pen those kind of words and she loves the way my thoughts make her feel; even when they make her cry." - me