An Angel Yet Unborn

I’ve seen an angel, not in feathers or flame, but in the shape of a shadow that light hasn’t caught yet.  She’s a sketch on the air, a breath before it forms, a name whispered so softly even silence forgets. Her touch? A shiver that splits into shivers, a winter of wonder razor thin and sweet.  I doubt my own existence when she flickers between hallucination and prophecy, too flawless to be flesh, too real to be dream. Maybe she’s the afterimage of a star that died yearning, or the first draft of a beauty goddess still waiting for hands. All I know is, she haunts like the future and I’m already gone, i'm already gone before she even smile. 23.05.25