modern fallen angels shivering in their beds at night with an ache in their bones and an itch under the skin, a feeling that they are something biggerbetterbrighter and blinding themselves with incessant memories that neverstop and missing home, missing their wings and their divinity
angels texting each other at 3 am “i miss the sky” and “do you remember what it was like to hold the world in our jaws because that feeling feels further and further away every second”
angels in classrooms, angels taking the bus, angels at grocery markets, angels in art studios on friday nights, angels at coffee shops, angels in bookstores, angels working minimum wage; people shiver when they pass by, or they stare too long from across the room and their eyes sting a little because there’s still power there, mortals can still feel it, even if they could never put a name to it.
fallen angels with a righteous sense of justice, still too good to know evil, not sure what’s right or wrong anymore because this world is not dichotomous; there is no easy choice. modern angels with guilt and regrets, what that must mean on a divine level. angels with glowing palms and golden eyes, the remnants of a god too big for any room.
angels who feel nostalgia for planes they can’t even comprehend anymore, angels earth-bound and wingless and clinging to each other in raw daylight when everything feels like too much and not enough. angels with anxiety, angels with sweaty, shaking hands, angels with ptsd, angels at dusk imagining god in the city lights and trying to understand what purpose means. maybe not theirs, but at least its something tangible.
The Archery Range 