Work Text:
Archangel’s personal office
The Heavenly Boardroom, Top floor
Heavenly Headquarters
The Almighty
The Throne Room
Heavenly Headquarters
Subject: A Humble Plea
To whom it may concern,
My God, I cannot hide from you. Why would I need to deliver these words to you, hence? I am doing so because I need to. I need to put my feelings into words. I need to write them down. I am addressing you in this letter as a confession. The confession of a tempted angel, willing to be, content with it.
He was beautiful, he was my world. I had that thought too many times. The sentence arising once in a while, a sudden impression, as if I needed to label an unfathomable regret, a past illumination which had shattered me, which had left the whisper of a confusing, embarrassing desire floating, hovering. An insinuation whose borders and limits are not properly perceived, are unconsciously discarded.
When I used to immure him in an unattainable, erstwhile and impermeable time, into an undefined mythology — an overbearing sumptuous appearance too foregone and foreign, stupendously and unmistakably unreal, draconian even — I was avoiding the truth, I was undeniably oblivious. I was hiding behind a false subtlety of a first impression seemingly perfect.
For I was wrong stating he WAS beautiful. I was so very wrong.
He IS.
He was, but had been, and has been, and is, and will always be beautiful.
He was, but had been, and has been, and is, and will always be my world.
He has that disarming beauty which does not delineate its purpose, its raison d'être. A magnetism I easily stifled in the vault of our first meeting, when I marvelled at him irradiating the cosmos from the very beginning — until now, until Today.
For it is clear the moment I see him, he cannot be that beautiful without being unconscious of it. He was shunned and yet found the willpower to take pleasure in his entity, his reasoning, his choices, his values, his pleasure, his own sense of freedom and truth. In his case, this willingness has no immediate connection with fear, dread or melancholy, with the unanswered questions of an ineffable existence, the numerous stigmas clearly exemplified by his eyes and wings, by the serpentine patterns on his sideburn. That is what fascinates, bewilders, taunts and arrests me.
He questioned things, he did not take anything at face value. He walked up to what his whole being was built for, not as an entity to be disregarded, but on the contrary, an entity advocating his own self — independent and unrestrained, exceptional and unique.
Besides, how can I be so sure he used to be that perfect aeons ago, compared to who he is now? If I met him again, that very first time before time itself, I might be surprised to find his old self less bewitching, less arresting, compared to who he is now.
I need to acknowledge his power: his light was born from millennia, his soul is a history of six thousand years.
I recognise my faulty thoughts were actually a way to dissipate my regrets, my uneasiness, my incomprehension, my dismay, my failures, my broken faith, my broken heart, my nonsensical resolutions. Because his presence shows how my beliefs, my actions and desires were incorrect, useless, illogical, even dangerous and hurtful. I used to blissfully condone Heaven's rule because of the reassuring idea of an Ineffable Plan, numbing, lulling me to sleep — the contrary of a difficult but necessary awakening — that in the end better ensnared me.
I came to the realisation he does not have to prove anything. His light is a manifesto of what is essential and what should always be. I cannot hope to change him and shall certainly not wish for such a disgraceful finality. He is himself and he is the one being who makes this world such a rich adventure, a rightful existence, a genuine reason to live.
My pious desire is to have him back.
I do not want him to forgive me. Leaving him was unforgivable, I am ready to endure his everlasting grudge, but I need him.
Starting over. A new beginning. Without forgetting what had been done.
Will he give me another chance? Will he let me tend his needs and desires? Take care of him? I'm not afraid to try, to elicit a response, like a puzzle in need of solving, a mystery to be deciphered, a code to be cracked. I'll be so good to him, I promise. I'll be so good that if you had a human corporation you would blush. I'll be so tender, so delicate. I'll cradle him like the most cherished manuscript. I'll let him fall into my arms, I'll alleviate the pain you and I caused him. I'll do everything he needs and desires, for my only wish is to offer him what he's been denied. I want to see his ever tender smile, his lovely luminous eyes, his great-hearted soul, his entirety.
I want him freed from the constraints we are subjected to. I want him, please, I'm begging you. We'll go to Alpha Centauri if he wants to.
.... Alpha, Aziraphale .... Centauri, Crowley ....
.... Was it supposed to be?
I will no longer let either Heaven or Hell separate us. Whatever they believe, whatever they decide, he and I are bound to each other.
.... An intriguing theory: what if each angel went to Alpha Centauri with one demon? What would you do? Humans no longer need us anyway .... Have they ever needed us at any rate? We only sent them calamities over the very calamities they already put on each other. How are we necessary? Leaving them by themselves might not benefit them, but it certainly won't be of any help if we stay among, under and over them.
I confess I will no longer be able to enjoy human pleasures if we leave Earth. Nevertheless, what are the pleasures of the flesh without him? What are music, books, culinary delights — any piece of art — without his existence?
I'm just an empty recipient while I'm away from him. An eternal void, swallowing anything too close to me, making light disappear....
.... Which makes me wonder, ....
Are black holes angels whose hearts were broken?
Your sincerely,
