I’ve seen him three times now. An angel. The angel, maybe. I never really thought about them. Maybe he’s the only one. But he’s an angel- I swear. I know it in my gut, in every fibre of my being, he is not from here.

Deep green-grey eyes that shouldn’t be anywhere near as strikingly, startlingly beautiful as they are. On anyone else they’d be nearly forgettable.

Brown-blond sweeping hair, long enough to curl around his ears and fall infront of his eyes. Gentle dark honey pooled and twisted into hair.

Lips that seemed to naturally fall somewhere between emotionless and smiling.

A few spattered freckles across the bridge of his nose and spill onto his cheeks.

I don’t know how I know what he is, but I do. I swear I do.

It’s like… There’s some source of light beneath his skin, shining out through his pours. He shines with this charismatic, invisible, inner glow.

 I’ve never even heard him speak, or do anything of particular interest, really. I like to think that he’s looking for his wings, a silent observer into the complex and confounding world of human kind, bound on his own task but constatly distracted by oridnary people.

 I imagine him with wings- not feathers, he’s no bird. He’s some…. Some other thing that cannot be properly described. His wings are made of light, bursting out from his back like the petals of a flower, or mist curling over a hillside. Shapeless and shifting and contantly in motion.

At first, I tried to collect him, categorize him. I tried to pin him down like a butterfly, but my pin went through and he flitted away.

I wonder if he’ll find his wings. I wonder if I’ll ever talk to him.

I wonder if I could ever know him.

Maybe someday, I’ll help him fly away.

Though I’m really not sure that’s what I want him to do.