Angels

A part of me died the day I met you.

The part that wakes up each morning and dreads another day.

The part that spends hours looking in mirrors hoping that something changes.

'Cause when life sends you an angel, the world looks different.

The sun feels warmer.

Morning coffee tastes like hope.

Even sadness doesn’t hurt as much when you’re there to hold my hand.

But you see, the problem with angels is that they can fly.

And the problem with demons: They never die.