My Angel.

It’s as if God has himself come down to Earth. The world is barely whole in my just-opened eyes, little swirls entangling themselves in my vision. And then, I see her.

I blink once.

Twice.

Thrice.

My vision clears and my heart blooms in contentedness––she looks so peaceful. Her hair sprawls around her head, almost like a halo. The weightless strands barely touch the pillow, trickling off and rising up and down slowly with the soft breeze. Too preoccupied with her to notice that there was actual breeze, I feel the gentle movement of air around me; of course, she woke up again––in the middle of the night––to open the window, and the curtains. But boy, am I thankful.

A ray of sunlight streams in unbroken through the gap, and the rest spills itself on the floor all around the room. The light makes her look even more ethereal––if this is even possible. The light illuminates the planes of her face; she looks almost carved, hand-chiseled by Michelangelo himself. She’s curved into herself, sleeping in her own cocoon of comfort and rumpled blankets. Her––or rather, my––shirt is rucked up and her cute panda shorts are on display. I giggle, she’ll be the most beautiful woman in the world in anything, even baggy sleep shorts with cartoon pandas on them.

Her skin looks aglow, she radiates beauty and goodness and all things soft.

Her face is restful, her features gentler than when she’s awake. Her button nose looks smaller, her cheeks plumper and her lips brighter. She defies every standard of beauty that anyone has ever set.

“God, I am so in love with you.”

Her eyes flutter once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Her entire face––and the room––lights up. Her cheeks raise, a smile slowly weaving itself onto her face. Her eyes open and they look unfocused for a bit until they land on me. They look like pools of honey, almost translucent and she looks at me with drizzles of love in her eyes. She smiles a little more, shakes her head and giggles––pleasant laughter filling the room.

“I am so much more in love with you.”

She sighs a little, a smile still gracing her face. Sitting up, she fixes her––my––t-shirt and with the sunlight dramatically framing her, she’s an angel. Stifling a yawn, her arms fly up in the air as she stretches out the knots, “What’s for breakfast? Have you gotten around to making any or have you just been staring at me?”

She’s absolutely perfect, and I will believe so until the day I die. The parts of her I saw in that moment were enough to change me indefinitely––all for the better.