Broken angel

This is one I wrote the other night; but when I think about it, it wrote itself...

I’ve always tried to do my best you know, but my best has always been marred by my flaws.
Perhaps you were aiming too high, I said.
It was here that I noticed that I was talking to a broken angel creeping home in the dust. He was built around five foot ten or so with a shallow complexion in the mirrors that no one could see beyond much, but I wasn’t that concerned about that.

Weaving inside the lines of this I came across the next insight that revealed itself as an example presented to me as the chaos factor.
So I had to ask: who are you really?
Perhaps both sides of the same coin, was the only answer that would come.

I wondered how perpendicular I was about this, and was just about to say so, when another question came:
Can you hear crickets talking?
No, I said, most firmly.
Then I must be talking to myself.
I will not argue with anything you say, I said and wished for a cup of coffee.

So, may I accept your surrender any time soon?
As you wish, I said, hoping to leave all this crawling in the dust.
Let’s drink on it then, seeing as how we’ve met and are both going in the same direction.
When the coffee came I realised I was a stranger to love and had to wonder what I’d been doing all this time to arrive in such a place.

Images from Pixabay