Hommage to angels

I’ve not always been a compassionate person. Yet even so, there's a handful of people that my consciousness bites at me to not leave forgotten in unstable, old archives of my memory. Firstly, I’d like to mention you. 

I know you won’t read this, yet as I write I can only imagine your familiar presence shadowing my every move. Not only did you call me your angel, you gave meaning to those words- I felt like an angel in your presence. If anyone were to know me the way you once did, climb up the tall walls that shelter my mind, they’d know you subsequently. We are one, you sculpted the person I am today. I’m sorry I left you, without saying goodbye of all things, but we were drowning—not just in love, but in the kind of familiarity that dulls everything meaningful and I still have much to feel before letting myself slip into peace’s grasp. 

Thank you for giving yourself up for me. 

My first kiss was with one of my friends, she had weird boundaries and though there was nothing romantic to the kiss, it made me feel strangely intimate with her. Her name was Chloe. She was everything I was running away from- same diagnosis as me, same fucked up brain and she let herself wander through narrow streets of lust and alcohol, chasing surface level pleasure. We kiss often now and I see her the few times she shows up at school. When our lips touch I feel not only the bitter tang of cigarettes on her tongue but it feels as though I’m embracing the parts of myself I usually try to hide—the weirdness, the anger, the ugly. She wears them all openly, with pride. 

Maybe it's selfish, but I love you Chloe.

Lastly, I’d like to remember my primary school teacher. I’m not going to lie and invent a name because in all honesty I forgot hers but her actions stayed and will forever stay etched into my mind. You know those people who are so kind-hearted, you actually feel bad just imagining all the shit they must’ve gone through to get there ? Mhm, that was her. Her eyes saw how my measly little frame was just dripping in self-loathing and hate. While I went through my first panic attack, her touch was like a balm healing everything my parents fucked up inside me. She carved out the path I’ll follow in adulthood, for if I become a parent anything less than her I’m sure to kill myself.

I’d like to mention these people before I forget them completely, like I probably have with countless other individuals. Maybe I should ask the people in my life who they’d honour—maybe then, I’d admire who they’re trying to become enough to stomach who they are now.