I watched them fall, those angels.
The first fell from the sky, already lost to the wind, spiralling out of control with every metre she travelled. She was perpetually drifting, losing herself to the vastness of the air whilst reaching out for the clouds, forever unable to touch them. Her solace was in the tornadoes of emotion, whipping her into ecstatic oblivion; periodically preventing her destruction until they, too, faded into the very oblivion they had created. Leaving her falling once again. Eternally falling.
The second had always been on the surface of the Earth, striding with unseen anxiety. She was a master at disguised self-crucifixion, yet would praise the heavens for every dreamlike moment. The second did not fall from the skies, reaching; she fell off the edge of the world, slowly descending beyond the reaches of most and into a forbidden realm of desolation, where only the strongest souls survive. I have no doubt she had been there before, many times, and had always found a set of wings to help her rise to the Earth once more.
But one day, the first will find a tornado that never fades. The second will grow wings of her own. And on that day, the two of them will rise again, smiling at each other from across the horizon. And I will smile too, all the way from the past.