There are ten million people in the city tonight
And one angel.
Plotting promises of good days to come
Where screams once painted sleepless nights.
“Everything will be okay, honey.”
“I won’t ever recover from this.”
Broken shards of glass
Still shine in the light.
Still can be picked up and
United to reflect the colours of your dearest dreams.
Don’t give up.
You have to win.
“Okay, I want to.
But isn’t zero worth more than a minus thousand?”
Every life is a pile of good things and bad things, he says.
The good things don’t always soften the bad,
But the bad things don’t spoil the good.
It isn’t a minus thousand.
It’s a hundred, and a minus five, and a seven, and a minus thirty.
Numbers are your friends.
Zero isn’t worth anything.
“I no longer believe that there exist good things.
I can’t think of any; there must not be any.”
If you stare at the sky long enough, he teaches,
You begin to see the stars.
“I see them now,” I realize, in awe.
He smiles at me until my smile is no longer under my own control.
The angel that lit up my life.