He climbs onto her terrace and waits with the stars and the moon for her to walk up those stairs. The sharp breeze poking him every few minutes. Finally, she climbs up those stairs with warm soup and a cut of chocolate cake.
Forgetting the sharp breeze, looking at the cake, his eyes open up. In that moment every cell in his body was excited, because no matter how many times he imagined how it would be, when she walk up those stairs, there was no cake. She was an angel to him. In this world of equilibrium and balance there are a few beings that get to bend the rules in any way they wish. She was his angel.
They pitched a tent out of sheets and clips. They took in the chill of the night, folded their legs, hunched their backs, exchanged a warm look and bit into their cake.
