Warm feathers of hope

My Mom once told me a story about the real angels that came to save us. They didn’t have wings. They didn’t all sing with sweet voices. They didn’t stay forever by our side. They weren’t always beautiful and graceful. They didn’t have amazing lives.

She told me that angels were as imperfect as I were. But she also told me that I would be able to recognise them, and that whenever I thought I had found one, I had to stick to that belief, because I’d always be right.

I followed her advice, and I’ve found too many to count. My Mom didn’t lie; sometimes they were gorgeous, but sometimes they weren’t. There were some that were scary too. Their voices weren’t always sweet and gentle, people didn’t turn their heads when seeing them pass by. They weren’t happy all the time and they didn’t change everybody’s lives. They didn’t stay forever in my life either. But in my memory, they remain. Because I could spot them. Because I could tell they were angels, and they knew I knew too.

Sometimes we are alone, sometimes we are miserable, sometimes we are lost. But nothing lasts forever. Another angel might be looking at you right now.

Can you tell who it is?

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