She dressed in a polka dot dress on her first day of school that perfectly aligned
with the freckles on his face. He saw her and grinned a toothy smile, she saw him
and did nothing.
--
They became perfect friends, he taught her how. How to smile, how to believe
in miracles. And everything became a miracle.
--
For Christmas, he gave her a china doll and she gave him her heart, shining like
twinkle lights on Christmas trees. When he saw it, he cried and cried. And she,
unsure of what to do, cried with him.
--
He left her a note on her pillow. He called her Angel, even though her name was
Angela. He wrote words she never saw before, but she liked the way they sounded
when he said them out loud.
--
They made a time capsule, to open when they were older. She put in the note, he
put in his picture. It was blank and clear. She never asked questions about that.
--
They agreed to meet there, and they got married by the stars under a thousand
lilacs that framed their favorite place. It was the happiest day of her life, even
though the flowers were dying.
--
He was sentenced to depict the war with his delicate paints and was promised a
safe return that was sabotaged. He was sent home in a box wrapped with a flag,
like a present. Her favorite present.
--
She dreamed of the man, an eidolon who would dance with her and they would
float into the starry mist like a fairytale. She draped raven shadows over her husk
of white, hoping his ghost would take her with him. He didn't, and now she looks
more like the ghost.
--
She imagined all the bridges falling down burning into water, becoming something
else. Being something new.  She’s feeling like the bridge, but she won’t fall. She
can't fall. Angels don't fall down, do they?
--
She smiles at the things she hates; she can’t say that she believes in anything.
A skeptic is in need of tangible feelings.
--
Her heart is made from fragile china dolls and dreams of Santa Claus, no wonder
why it’s broken