Morning Star
מי הבעלים של העיר כסף
We had a routine, you and I. We were creatures of pure habit, after all, creature of design. We were only created to so few things, but make them each great, make them all count. We were created to love Him, first and foremost; and to love all of His creation in turn. It was not simply breathing; it was the very light that ran through our veins, the very basic entity each individual feather strand was made of. He cloaked us in His breath, we are His children, and we were there to serve. But sometimes, when we find time, we enjoy.
We would walk by the river that ran from the beginning of Paradise to its nonexistent end. We would feel the grass of gold crush beneath our feet and know they would set themselves right again when we have treaded past. We picked flowers and gave them to each other, pretending their aromas were far more fragrant than what we already possessed. Sometimes we would pull each other in for a swim, crystal making our skin shimmer in the ever-present sun. Other times we would fly over it, seeing our reflection in the water hurrying through the current. It was the only way we could see ourselves distorted, the pain of perfection.
We would see the ways we were different, and the same. Mostly the same. We had the same golden hair, the same silver eyes that matched the chrome of the City. Our wings were identical, spanning out behind us like tails that spoke of magnificence, but also of bondage to the sky, even if yours were slightly longer than mine. We wore linen of the same hue of brilliance, but it was in our faces that some things changed. They called me cherubim, because I was a child, compared to the lot of you. I was there to deliver messages, not to know the meaning of them. You were there to guide me, and all your knowing showed in all the planes of your face, the angles where cunning and deception could lie unseen until you changed face to show they were there.
We were alike, my love, but we were not the same.
Even in the ways we ate our fruit, which we picked from the alive trees, which they would have given to us willingly if we so asked. Olive and pomegranate and fir, orange and pear and apple; you stabbed them from their branches and gave a triumphant cry when you had them in your grasp. You tore them open with limitless strength, watched the flesh of them come apart, and licked the juice that bled from their seeds when they poured down your arm. And then you would hand the other half to me, eyes inviting.
On the other hand, I would pick it off carefully the stem, almost in apology though I knew I caused it no harm, and flutter silently back to the ground, regarding the way its shape was just as He made them to be, felt how they grazed each other with skin that differed in texture. You would tug me along with impatience that was certainly not common amongst our kind, and pull me to wherever it was we were headed. I would take small bites, equivalent to a thousand nibbles of a tiny animal, and eat it slowly until I want of it no more. Sometimes you ate my leftovers as if you were receiving kisses; sometimes you threw the pits into bushes as if you were throwing kisses away.
We would regard the stars above us, there merely to make Paradise seem even lovelier than it already was, and count them, though we were already quite certain of how many there were. We would have already counted them before, after all. You insist that we name them as if they were ours, like they were children we could never have. You named them after those voices in your head you tell no one about, but most everyone would know is there. I never ask about them, and I often worry, but you never would have told me anyway. You only told me what is enough for the moment, what you thought I needed to know.
One day, this will all be ours, you said, spanning an arm across the Silver City in a guise of possession.
Do not say such foolish things; I remember berating, pulling your arm back down and linking my own with it like a chain, so it would not do what blasphemous deed it had done again. You have no right.
I have no right to the truth? You were smiling, but there was a hint of mockery in there that hurt me so. I had never felt anything like it before. It is not foolish, Gabriel, it is the future. I will... you will see.
You mean the Father will grant you dominion over the stars? I wanted to believe it, wanted to settle back on comfortable ground. I wanted so badly to believe you were just repeating His word.
Grant me dominion--? You trailed off into a laugh, ever so amused by your unknowing angel. Yes, yes, perhaps you can say that. He will grant me dominion over anything I see fit.
There was a pride in your voice that frightened me, and for a moment I did not speak. I still wanted to believe He will give you those things, and that you did not have to take it. I suppose I am more discerning than all of you ever gave me credit for.
Of course, of course He will, I opted to agree, in all my cowardice and shame. I should have told you otherwise, I should have tried to deter you, even if it seemed so close to impossible. I should have done something.
He will reward you for being who you are, I told you instead, and only then did I realize how weak I really was. It pleased you, though, as you laid your lips upon my cheek, that itself its own reward.
Love had made me weak, and as you very well know, I had not yet seen the last of it.
We would walk by the river that ran from the beginning of Paradise to its nonexistent end. We would feel the grass of gold crush beneath our feet and know they would set themselves right again when we have treaded past. We picked flowers and gave them to each other, pretending their aromas were far more fragrant than what we already possessed. Sometimes we would pull each other in for a swim, crystal making our skin shimmer in the ever-present sun. Other times we would fly over it, seeing our reflection in the water hurrying through the current. It was the only way we could see ourselves distorted, the pain of perfection.
We would see the ways we were different, and the same. Mostly the same. We had the same golden hair, the same silver eyes that matched the chrome of the City. Our wings were identical, spanning out behind us like tails that spoke of magnificence, but also of bondage to the sky, even if yours were slightly longer than mine. We wore linen of the same hue of brilliance, but it was in our faces that some things changed. They called me cherubim, because I was a child, compared to the lot of you. I was there to deliver messages, not to know the meaning of them. You were there to guide me, and all your knowing showed in all the planes of your face, the angles where cunning and deception could lie unseen until you changed face to show they were there.
We were alike, my love, but we were not the same.
Even in the ways we ate our fruit, which we picked from the alive trees, which they would have given to us willingly if we so asked. Olive and pomegranate and fir, orange and pear and apple; you stabbed them from their branches and gave a triumphant cry when you had them in your grasp. You tore them open with limitless strength, watched the flesh of them come apart, and licked the juice that bled from their seeds when they poured down your arm. And then you would hand the other half to me, eyes inviting.
On the other hand, I would pick it off carefully the stem, almost in apology though I knew I caused it no harm, and flutter silently back to the ground, regarding the way its shape was just as He made them to be, felt how they grazed each other with skin that differed in texture. You would tug me along with impatience that was certainly not common amongst our kind, and pull me to wherever it was we were headed. I would take small bites, equivalent to a thousand nibbles of a tiny animal, and eat it slowly until I want of it no more. Sometimes you ate my leftovers as if you were receiving kisses; sometimes you threw the pits into bushes as if you were throwing kisses away.
We would regard the stars above us, there merely to make Paradise seem even lovelier than it already was, and count them, though we were already quite certain of how many there were. We would have already counted them before, after all. You insist that we name them as if they were ours, like they were children we could never have. You named them after those voices in your head you tell no one about, but most everyone would know is there. I never ask about them, and I often worry, but you never would have told me anyway. You only told me what is enough for the moment, what you thought I needed to know.
One day, this will all be ours, you said, spanning an arm across the Silver City in a guise of possession.
Do not say such foolish things; I remember berating, pulling your arm back down and linking my own with it like a chain, so it would not do what blasphemous deed it had done again. You have no right.
I have no right to the truth? You were smiling, but there was a hint of mockery in there that hurt me so. I had never felt anything like it before. It is not foolish, Gabriel, it is the future. I will... you will see.
You mean the Father will grant you dominion over the stars? I wanted to believe it, wanted to settle back on comfortable ground. I wanted so badly to believe you were just repeating His word.
Grant me dominion--? You trailed off into a laugh, ever so amused by your unknowing angel. Yes, yes, perhaps you can say that. He will grant me dominion over anything I see fit.
There was a pride in your voice that frightened me, and for a moment I did not speak. I still wanted to believe He will give you those things, and that you did not have to take it. I suppose I am more discerning than all of you ever gave me credit for.
Of course, of course He will, I opted to agree, in all my cowardice and shame. I should have told you otherwise, I should have tried to deter you, even if it seemed so close to impossible. I should have done something.
He will reward you for being who you are, I told you instead, and only then did I realize how weak I really was. It pleased you, though, as you laid your lips upon my cheek, that itself its own reward.
Love had made me weak, and as you very well know, I had not yet seen the last of it.