Night Angel

Warm whistles and the smell of raisins flare the warm air of the day.

Trading flares to the top while the people hassle at the top of their voices. Pawnbrokers yell at the top of their lungs, while the women argue back. Children, as always, run after one another as they laugh in joy and carelessness. Behind the wooden doors couples sit and converse shyly, happy in each others presence. Somewhere in another apartment an old men lays, lost in his thoughts and bitter resentment for the past.

It's a second of love. Of happiness. Of sadness.

Though my eyes closed and my breaths fluttering, I hear him gently comb my hair as he leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek.

"Night, Angel."

One more second before the world is its sane, stable state.

And the other,

It's all gone.