The Angel I Invented
People used to call me a demon. Not because I hurt others… but because I could see things nobody else wanted to see. The sadness behind fake smiles. The emptiness hidden inside love. The quiet presence of death following everyone like a patient shadow. And him… he looked like an angel. He always appeared when my mind became too loud. Sitting beside me in empty hallways, smoking in silence while the rest of the world kept pretending life was beautiful. He understood my exhaustion without asking questions. And I became addicted to that feeling. We were never lovers. That would have been easier. We were friends so painfully close that our feelings rotted into something impossible to name. I needed him to survive myself. And he needed me to feel real. We spent nights talking about death like it was an old friend waiting for us somewhere in the dark. About loneliness. About how painful it was to exist when you felt everything too deeply. Sometimes he looked at me like he wanted to save me. ...
