Beneath the crescendo drizzle is where she stood.
Waiting. Listening. Humming.Whispering.
As she extend her arm to touch the dark sky, a roar of music echoes
and reverberates in the air.
The sound of nostalgia blurred by the rain.
Her gentle eyes began to open. An expression of sadness
burdened by the world’s deafening noises.
Slowly, she drifted into the air and leaped across the empty space.
Defying all the laws of physics, an angel dares to fly.
But we’re not angels and we can’t have wings, not until we die.
Written: November 2013 as a Pen Relief