I have faith. It isn't the faith of so man, I don't have faith in the existence of God or of angels. I don't need faith for that, I know that they are there. True, I don't see them much any more but I know they are there. I should know, I used to be one of them.
No, my faith is not that there are angels, it's that she will be waiting for me when I die.
My beautiful, caring Maggie.
She was so young, so intense, so real. Her eyes were so bright and challenging in the small gap between cap and mask. Her eyes captured me long before I knew they were such a beautiful blue.
She was so young but she cared so much. She looked right at me, like she could see to my very core. I watched her cry and wondered what her tears would feel like.
She fascinated me, called to me, and I fell for her.
We only had one night together, not even a full day. I remember every minute that we had. I treasure every breath, every kiss that we shared, every touch of her skin, every smile, every tear. I lost her on that lonely road when an angel came to take her away. But I have faith.
Sometimes, when I am standing on the tall skeleton of a building, I think about what it was like to be an angel, what I left behind. For all of that I would never go back, not even if it meant only sacrificing one second of my time with her.
I have learned many things over the years that I've been human. I now know the touch of the wind on my face, the softness of a child's cheek, the sweet juice of a pear. When I see her again perhaps I will have something I can teach her. Perhaps, somewhere in my life, I have felt something or tasted something that she never knew.
That is the hope that has kept me going. The thought that I will see her again, will hold her again, will touch her again. In all the ages I spent showing them the way I never saw where the dead go but I believe that they go somewhere. It is my faith that tells me that they go somewhere and that I will go there too.
Sometimes the wait feels so long.
Seth turns away from the window with a quiet sigh, turning away from the view of the dark harbour. Leaning heavily on his cane he crosses the room to sit on his bed. With his age-gnarled hands resting on his lap he looks around the room before shaking his white head briefly and slowly climbing into bed.
“I can't see you but I know you're there,” he says quietly to the empty room, his voice burred by time.
“Cassiel,” he replies, smiling at the dark man sitting in his chair. “God, I had forgotten how beautiful you were,” Seth comments, aware that his words are an echo of an old conversation.
Cassiel's grin is a flash of white before he looks seriously at his old friend again.
“Seth. Do you still think it was worth it?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” Set replies without hesitation.
Cassiel looks at him in silence, his dark face inscrutable. Feeling a drowsy lassitude creep over him Seth closes his eyes, letting it pulls him down. It drags at his limbs like a lead weight.
Cassiel is standing up now and Seth stands beside him. They both look at the old man in the bed.
“What was your favourite thing?” Cassiel asks with a flash of white.
“Holding Maggie in my arms.”
“You will do that again soon, my friend.”
“I believe so.”