The Grieving Angel's Lover

A pale hush settles over the snow as he lies there on his back, breath rising in slow, steady clouds, the world around him softened into white and silence; for a moment he lets himself drift, feeling the cold beneath him and the sky above him, feeling almost peaceful except for a faint tug in the back of his mind, a sense that something has slipped from his memory, something small or maybe not small at all. However, the thought refuses to take shape. Before he can chase it, a familiar figure steps into view with an easy smile, offering a hand and a gentle remark that makes the moment seem harmless, ordinary, exactly what it should be. And just like that, the strange feeling loosens its grip, fading as quickly as it came, replaced by the quiet certainty that everything is fine and always has been.