I love a weeping angel

Eyes flickering like a flame in the breeze, like autumn leaves falling in the wind. They filled me with light and warmth and a feeling of eternity. I needed them like lungs need air or a heart needs to beat; but where were they? Where was the skin so warm that an ache came to me when ever I touched it, or thought about it? Where were the rivers of caramel that caressed the head of an angel? I didn't know, I never knew, the faith had left me and was never to return. Unless, he decided that I, that love was good. In my hands I could imagine the feel of them, the feathers of the wings that hung magestically from his spine and had kept me warm at night. I talk, of course, of my guardian angel. How he found me is not important, how I lost him is too painful to speak of but there are three moments that make my heart yern for him and they should be known to you.

One:

Like the whisp of an extinguished flame my breath left my lips, frail and thin in the frosty air. It was early January and snow was falling like apple blossom in summer only no fruit came from snow, only bitterness. There he stood, underneath the dead willow tree, naked apart from the linen cloth around his hips and thighs. He was not cold, not weak like me, but he was broken. His back was to me, hiding himself, wings hidden in layers of ancient, holy skin. I stretched out a frozen hand and placed it on the side of his neck and he leant against it, lightly kissing the fingers closest to his soft warm lips. My other arm clamped around his chest in a tight embrace, my cheek resting in the centre of his back. There I held him, silent and lovely. There are somethings that I never remeber, like how I then was being held by him, chest to chest, nose to nose. With a finger he tucked a strand of my auburn hair into my hat. I wanted to talk, ask him what had happened, who had won but I was not quick enough. His lips pressed to mine with a passionate grip. First on my hips and then my back, his hands pulled me closer to his burning chest.

Without that moment I would have died, my soul lost to the evil and death of winter, I want nothing more than to have that back and for it to be ever more passionate.

Two:

 This was before, this was.... perfect.

"My name?" His silky voice was utterly confused, "You know it, Nate it my name," I interrupted, "No! I heard the throng, they called you Caeleb!" He gripped my arm in the vice of his fist and shook. "You can hear them? You understand?" He was scared for me and I for him. Stepping closer I put my hand in the spot of his neck that made him close his eyes and pecked his cheek with my lips. "I hear you, don't I?" Like a sleepy moon he smiled and spun me round like a princess in a fairystory, "You never fail to amaze me. I think, no I knw now. Gabbe, I love you.

No moment compares to "I love you." I will never have that agin, so I cherish tought words like a last breath.

Three:

 An awe, a beam, a golden light so brilliant that it burnt to look. A mass of golden feathers outstretched form his back and smothered the air in a fiery glow of purity and glory. This was the last time that I was in his presnece. I cant say that I saw him because the light was so bright that I coulndt make him out to be anything but a flash. "You are poison! Leaking into every crease of me, filling me with hatred and sadness." These are the vey last words that I spoke to him, but not the last time I was to see him. I had to convince him that I hated him, that our love was evil and dangerous. My heart crumbled like old sandstone, I would have rather died than kill his heart. I felt like the worst kind of murderer, no tears could flow from my eyes, then he would know. "I don't love you, you have made me ugly and waisted my passions." He was on his knees now, slowly becoming stiff. There is a story, that if you break an angel's heart then he will turn to stone untill the love is returned by a kiss or he is smashed from hatred. "I hate you." The light dimmed and on the floor sat the statue of an angel, a weeping angel.