Dear Angel

Dear Angel,

I know you probably will never read this.

It's also probably why I have the nerve to write all of this now.

Everyday I am uncertain, foolish, gobsmacked. I know not what a gob is and why mine is smacked, but I know the feeling. Supposedly this is the middle of spring, but here all we have is rain and shine, and that's fine. Wishful thinking won't change anything but earn me an award " Delusional".

Truly I am stumped by your responses.
Truly I am caught not knowing what to do.
Maybe I am an ego-maniac, I am writing too much about myself after all.
Maybe I will find my glimmering sky once more?

Angels merit more than just the ramblings of a fool.
So I send forth everything else in more than words.

Yours truly and unexpectedly,
The September Soul