This face, now creased with lines of ignorance, once touched my face. His rough brown hands once clutched my heart. Jesus, that was his name. A Mexican boy, deeply religious, soulful. I am nothing but a wrinkled smile now, but I used to be a beauty. Hair that fell down my back soaked itself in the heat of the summer. Oh, what glorious summers I had. Jesus would pick me up from the greasy cafe in his truck, accompanied with a crookedly set smile. We would walk to the edge of town, where a cliff waited for us. We helped stones and pebbles free fall, and then, each other, down the never-ending abyss.
I stare at him now, that face, creased with lines ignorance will no longer fall with me. He is gone; he, selfishly, left me here as I continue to rot in the same town, while he flies somewhere, with beautiful silver wings.
Why, Jesus? Come and get me; no more falling, we can fly together.