She fell—
Not with fire, not in wrath,
But like a prayer dropped through a crack in heaven.
No war cry.
No thunder.
Just silence,
and then
her.
Wings once woven from starlight
torn against the jagged edge of earth.
She crashed where no gods wept,
and no one watched—
except me.
I saw her break
into something human,
but still more holy
than anything I've ever touched in this ruined world.
She walks now
with wounds she hides beneath her smile,
grace limping beside her like a shadow.
They see a girl.
I see the ash of heaven still in her eyes.
And I—
I sit behind glass, just skin and silence,
choking on every scream
I never let out to her.
I could have caught her.
I would have caught her.
If only fate had let me closer than this aching distance.
I see the hurt she wears like lace,
stitched in places no one thinks to look.
I see her give love with bleeding hands,
as no one stops to hold them, to stop the bleeding.
She doesn’t know.
She never does.
That every time she breaks,
I break louder.
If I could speak just once,
truly speak—
I’d tell her I was built not to worship her,
but to take the pain,
to bear it for her
like a crown of fire I’d wear gladly
just to see her rest.
But she walks,
unaware.
A fallen angel still searching for a sky,
while I remain the man
who watched her fall
and loved her ever since.
No one caught her, because no one believed angels could bleed.
