Dearest Angel,
Why do you keep on clipping your wings? You were born to touch the sky, I know how much you loved flying. Yet now I only see the sun setting in your eyes. The sky I've fallen in love with is not the same without you in it.

Dearest Angel,
Are you okay? I see trails of ashes. It's raining charcoal. The sky burns and I guess it burns you too, well a part of you at least. I can no longer see your wings. Why do you keep hurting yourself?

Dearest Angel,
How are you? I haven't seen you in a while. I guess you have moved on. I wish I did too.

Dearest Angel,
I long to see you.

Dearest Angel,
A blinding light talked to me,it showed me where I'll find you.

Dearest Angel,
My back hurts. I think I'm starting to grow wings. It hurts being able to see you, but can't touch you.

Dearest Angel,
I tried cutting my wings like you did, it's not that easy. I can't get rid of it.

Dearest Angel,
Now I understand why you had to burn your wings.

*Dearest Angel,
Why didn't you tell me? I burnt my wings, and myself too.

And like a caged bird
I've always known I deserve the sky

Yet no matter how much I long to be freed,
I am afraid to flee.

Even your bruises look like galaxies,
no matter how broken you see yourself to be, you'll always be fascinating to me.

She loves puzzles, the nitty-gritty details, and the distinct pieces. She has completed one after another, and another, and another. Yet even after she's done, the complete frame did not make her happy. She's still sad, unfulfilled, incomplete.

*Little did she know, the missing piece is not from the puzzle. The greatest riddle is still herself.