"Personal Angel" by John Brannon Ingebrigtsen

He held her close as they lie in bed, his arms wrapped around her
small frame tightly. Her form melded so perfectly to his own, as
if she were made for he and he alone. Her gentle breathing played
over the skin of his chest silently, each exhalation was steady
and rhythmic with the patterns of slumber. She seemed so perfect,
no; she was perfect, to him at least. The rest of the world didn’t
matter, though. They could rot in the deepest abyss of Hell itself
for all he cared, so long as he had her. She was everything to him,
and being able to finally hold her in his arms like this for the
first time made him happier than he had ever been in his entire
lifetime. She completed him, made him whole. Without her, there was
no life but death, eternal suffering and misery. She stirred, and he
held his breath, praying with all his heart that she would remain
asleep just a bit longer for him to enjoy. His wish was not granted,
though, as she woke and yawned quietly, looking slowly up to him with
her crystalline eyes of such wonderful blue. She smiled at him and he
melted within, his emotions running wild. Slowly she stretched out in
his arms, her large wings of the purest white unfurling behind her for
a moment then collapsing back to her form. He gave his angel a gentle
hug, holding her to him just that much more as he wondered how he
could be so lucky, having a little piece of Heaven all to himself.