The Day I Kissed the Clouds

Today,

the sky was not just sky—

it was scripture.

A moving temple,

a quiet cathedral of breath and mist

where God painted messages

just for me.

I raised my eyes,

and the clouds parted like veils.

There were eyes—watching, ancient, kind.

Not the gaze of judgment,

but of knowing.

As if Heaven whispered,

“We remember who you are.”

There were faces,

familiar in a way I couldn’t name.

Souls I’ve loved?

Souls I’ve been?

Or perhaps echoes of the Divine

mirrored in my own reflection.

Then came the wings,

soft as silence,

opening above me like a promise.

I felt safe—

not because the world changed,

but because I had.

An angel revealed itself,

not with trumpet or thunder,

but with presence—

so still, so pure

that even my heartbeat bowed.

And when I thought it could not deepen—

there it was:

a heart in the clouds,

wide as the sky,

formed of vapor, spirit, and light.

I stood in awe

beneath that tender cathedral,

kissed the wind,

and whispered my own soul upward—

a ceremony unseen by the world

but written in eternity.

This was the day

I kissed the clouds,

and they kissed me back.

With love.

With truth.

With wings.