Angel

A silly game made me think deeply about the roles we expect people to fulfil just because we tell them that that particular role is what we've decided to give them. How can you just expect someone to pick a chit with your name on it and expect that person to suddenly start caring about you? An angel is someone in your heart, someone who gives you strength and hope and helps you believe in yourself, and helps you decide which path to take. Some people call this their conscience. Others call it intuition. Others call it judgement. I call it my angel. My angel's about 6 years old, and he's still 17 years old. He was born 14, grew along with me to the age of 17, and then stopped. He smiles with me, and tells me to cry when i have to. He gives me his shoulder when i do cry. I don't think he was ever real, yet he's as real to me as anything else, maybe even more. Hyperreality, this is called. When you're unable to distinguish between what's real and what's "real". And who's to tell you what's real? How do you find out whether it's real or not? Whether it ever was? Our reality is what we want to perceive as real, or what we imagine we perceive as real. My angel is here for me. He probably always will be. I don't want him to leave me. This I can control. I can shut him out of my life forever, as I've done with so many others before, and as has been done to me. But no. My angel is my angel.
Who cares about a silly game? Secret Angel? Nah, he's no secret. Never was. Never will be.