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Have I ever told you what my favorite color is? I am surrounded by it now, in this field. Miles and miles of sunflowers everywhere I look. They turn toward me as if I were their sun, but that’s silly. I’m not bright enough to be anyone’s sun, the center of anyone’s universe. You, my dear, are another matter. Your new eyes are my favorite color in the world. They are so beautiful, so pretty . You catch me just staring at them sometimes and I have to pretend I hadn’t been.
It’s been three hundred years since your wings burned to black and your halo was taken from you. We meet every so often—no, who am I kidding? I see you almost nearly as much as I see my own reflection. I don’t know what you’re doing right this moment. Probably something evil, dastardly, despicable. You claim you are all three of these things but I have yet to see real proof.
You’ve changed. I expected it, especially after I found out about your eyes. Yellow is all you see now, muting the stars’ brilliance, and that right there is what’s despicable, not you. I surround myself with yellow because it’s as pretty as your eyes, but that is my choice. You are cursed with it. It’s funny how the same thing can be a blessing for someone and a curse for another.
I’m stationed on Earth for now, but maybe in a hundred years I can sneak back into Heaven and get your eyes for you. Maybe I can work a miracle and fix your eyes now, gift you the world of colors again. Unless you’ve grown to like yellow, like I do. I’ll ask you the next time I see you.
The sunflowers’ blossoms turn toward me as I pass them in a rippling sea of gold. I’m starting to wonder if I really am as bright as the sun, but then I see you. You’re standing maybe twenty yards from me, and I can’t help the smile that leaps to my face. Oh, am I happy to see you. The flowers were never drawn to me. They were following your light, the one you claim died three hundred years ago. My heart picks up as I quicken my pace.
You give me one look with those yellow eyes and I melt in your gaze. Maybe you’d be okay if I didn’t steal your eyes back. Maybe you’d be okay if I stayed in this moment, with my eyes on yours, unwilling to banish the yellow.
But that’s a selfish thought, and selfishness is a bad thing. I am an angel. I must be good.