Diaries of A Lost Angel

As he lay there I found myself paying no attention to the star speckled night sky, because I had found my own constellations in the freckles that dotted his cheeks. I did not search for a star shooting across the sky, instead I searched his eyes for the flecks of green that always seemed to show up when he was deep in thought. He could not see me nor hear me. My scent was not carried upon the wind like a leaf in autumn. I was, what humans may call an angel. That's what I was, a lost angel.