Angels

I hung five angels over my bed—real ones, from my Gramma’s house that I took years ago. I painted them silver, hoping they'd bring some kind of peace, maybe even help me sleep.

They’re beautiful. A little vintage. A little haunting. They remind me of her.

But… they don’t seem to be working. My sleep still sucks. The dreams are weird. The nights are long.

Still, I like knowing they’re there. Watching over me. Even if they’re not miracle workers, they’re mine.

And that’s something.

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