But oh how wrong I was. All hope was not lost, and though I didn't know it at the time, he did. He saw me. He saw it all. He watched my fall, watched me fade deeper and deeper into the fate I had accepted. He knew I was dying, and knew he had to save me. And even when I gave up all hope and surrendered myself to the dark peace that I had started to long for, he stood by. He watched, and he waited; knowing that he had what I needed. He reached for me, but I pulled away, afraid of the softness I saw in his eyes. So much love, it couldn't be for me. So much certainly, I had long since let go of it all. Every touch from him broke me, and left me feeling something that I couldn't handle. I begged him to stay away, to keep his soft, warm hands away from me. But he prevailed. Somehow, touch after touch my dead heart was reborn. It hurt. The awakening after beung dead for so long was more painful that the death itself, but it worked. I was reborn.

I once asked him why he waited so long, but he just smiled and said that I'd understand one day. I was the stubborn type, I was, but I tried to accept his words. I still don't understand, but he says I will. I don't know why he let me die, but I let it be. Some days I feel myself start to fade away again, but he's always there to touch my cheek, lift my chin and whisper the truth. I am not dead anymore, I am not forgotten. I am alive, living proof of what could be. Doesn't make me perfect, definitely not. I stumble too often to be called an angel, or even get close. But that's okay he says. I am okay. You know why? It's because of what he calls me.

He calls me his own.