My angel said she was leaving me. Maybe for a while. Maybe for the rest of my days. Definitely until I came to the Realization. She said I had lost my way and was yet to know it. Worse still, I was presently unable to know it. She said I was the worst type of stubborn – the quiet, inward stubborn: stubbornly clinging to idealism when imbalance was the reality; stubbornly remaining on the track-side platform when fads and “new best methodologies” were the trains to excitedly or faux-excitedly hop onto; stubbornly going for the drudgery and being real when “smart work” and “perception management” were the order of the day; stubbornly clinging to living free and loving free when “being strategic” was the game; stubbornly clinging to the inclusion of logic when “faith was all that was needed”.
“Just fucking stubborn and resistful!” she said with a resigned sigh. And then her wings spread out. Her wings fluttered and she lifted off, away from my arm and into air.
I pleaded with my stare and outstretched arm, and then I pleaded with my lips, “Please, don’t leave me!”
She fluttered mid-air and peered awhile at me, hard, and shook her head, “I wouldn’t if I knew you would change soon.” And then she flew away.
This is a work of fiction.
Photo by Miltiadis Fragkidis on Unsplash