Sick with a Star

There I was
Curled up in a ball,
Just me,
Stripped of all the usual
Things That Sparkle

Sick and worried
About being the latecomer

It wasn't so late at night that
You wanted to make yourself
A bowl of buttery popcorn.
Not too early that you were
Feeling like a rebel, awake when
Everything else had been asleep for hours

But just in-between,
Where you probably should be
Getting to bed.

Except I wasn't.
And I wasn't alone, either.

There we were,
Me and an angel.
Just sitting down causally,
Like there was nothing extraordinary about it.

On a bathroom floor,
With our eyes wide and
Our legs sore
From not moving for so long

We talked about normal things,
Worldly worries.
But her wisdom seemed to make them
Special,
Like they came from the stars,
Like she came from the stars.

And she probably did.