She runs in the morning. Her moves are fluid, graceful, necessary. No move is there just to please the eye, each muscle in tune with the other. She dances, smiles. Among the raindrops. Etheral. Serene. Innocent.
An angel.
¨Don´t you just hate her for it? I do.¨
Yet I move, with stark precision, circle my pray, wait. I am the hunter, she is the hunted. She feels it, the desire, the fear, bubbling, just beneath the crisp air. She stops, turns, searches. I chuckle, angels always fall first. She shakes her head, chastising herself for her silly thoughts. Again. One foot in front of the other, one step here, one step there, the same rhythm, always. She feels him more than sees him, he drops into step next to her, yet he seems not to run, he seems not to touch the ground. A snicker, her eyes jump to his and she knows.
I can´t do anything right. I am not worth a thing, I delude myself in thinking that I change something, that I make a difference, that if not to others, I mean something... to myself.
Tears spring to her eyes, she goes on, runs, and she feels him, his warm breath on her neck, his arms around her, roaming all over her, in her.
They do not need me. They need what I can give them. someone to come back to, someone always there, someone who expects nothing in return. They want me to be perfect, above human, to not bruise when hit, to not cry when hurt.
They´re running freely now, her tears. She feels the fever coming on, feels how he holds her closer to himself, and she accepts, she trusts his warmth, his hold, his being, to comfort her, to cradle her, to hide her.
She stops. Struck as by lightning. He smiles, his eyes are so alive, so full of every color ever thougt of. His lips are rough, soft, tempting and mocking. Over her, they´re just... bitter. Everything, everything she ever wanted was in that kiss, her dreams, her wishes, her loves. What remained was what she needed. The last breath, the last cry of life and then, it leaves, you´re hollow and bare.
She falls. In cold mud. Her eyes close. Her breathing stops. Her tears flow.

A lonely path, in a city park.
A joggers path. A runners path. A difference.
Angels scar. A gash deeper than all others. A stitch so frail.

In the end angels always fall first.

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