Based quite loosely on the poem "But He Didn't" by Gael Legget Roberson. The song "Wind Beneath My Wings" is by Bette Midler.

All of my life, I would have loved to grow in a city. Emma from school used to live in Boston, and according to her it's quite the life. There are shops everywhere, serving the most exquisite foods, and the dresses are marvelous! At every shop, the inside is warm and smells of cinnamon, and kept cool in the hot summers. The theater is always alive with a play of sorts, and the actors and actresses singing and dancing, skipping about the stage. Early on, I concluded I would go to New York and become a famous actress.

Despite my wildly implausible dreams, you stood by them. You were the one that kept at my side and encouraged me to join the drama club, despite the fact that I despised the majority of the girls in the organization. Regardless, you were proud of me, and would come to each of my performances. No matter how I did, you were always the first to find me and say "You shone today. You absolutely glowed." How could I thank you? You helped to forge my dreams.

It must have been cold there in my shadow,
to never have sunlight on your face.
You were content to let me shine, that's your way.
You always walked a step behind.

And summer, when the world was filled with the sweet scents of the world, you would walk a mile to my house so we could go down the stream looking for newts. Those are the days I remember best. You always had a sort of frown about you as you flipped each rock, some sort of wonderment about what it might contain. Indeed, even if no newt was to be found, you were kept entertained nonetheless. And then, when I found one of the creatures by complete accident, there was always a broad grin on your lightly freckled face. You would congratulate me as I stared at the beast in wonderful awe.

The summers were also the best time for picnics. After walking for a mile in the hot Georgia sun, you'd arrive just as I'd started preparing our lunch. Always for two, because you were always coming for lunches. You think I'd forget? Lemonades as we perched on the porch steps. The nights we'd run barefoot through the yard, wet dew on our feet–leaping! Reaching into the night sky for a firefly, watching the confused beetle give a last wary lighting before turning off, only to start up again once let go. Do you remember those?

You never were one for football. You joined up on the track team as soon as you could. This was nice for us, because I finished my drama as you finished your running, and we'd ride the late bus home together, getting off at the stop right between our houses. But I didn't often come to your meets. There were things I had to attend to–boys I had to see, girls I had to giggle with. But you didn't mind. You would only tell me that yes, you ran okay. You'd give me a small smile, one you gave often in those years, as I became more of a failure to you. I cannot express my apologies enough.

So I was the one with all the glory,
while you were the one with all the strength.
A beautiful face without a name for so long.
A beautiful smile to hide the pain.

Just as summer was an amazement, do you remember those winter days? The ones it snowed so much, the bus hardly had a chance! Those days I'd intercept you on the way to my house, and we'd sled and play, and enjoy ourselves until we were soaked through and couldn't feel our hands. Then you–red cheeked and bright eyed–would make me go inside, so I wouldn't catch cold. How did I not see? How could I not notice the flakes in your strawberry blonde hair, the way it made your lips so rosy? Perhaps because at the time, the thought of our football captain dominated my mind.

Sometimes, when we were both happy with ourselves, with our lives, you would pick me up and spin me around! Just lift me into the air! Not like some people do it, leaving me with aching arms. All you had to do was pull me up, and spin and spin until you fell down, myself on top of you, and how we laughed! We lay upon those fields, giggling and smiling, my head rested on your chest. But we were not lovers, no. I think that's what made it sweeter, to be with someone and at such ease.

Butterfly, you called me. I was your Butterfly. When we had been younger, I used to pretend that's what I was. We would play–you would be something or another, but I was always the butterfly, and often insisted that you call me such. The name stuck... but if anyone but you tried to call me that, it would make no sense. That was your name for me. I was your Butterfly.

Your father died. I remember the day clearly. I'd never known much of him, you didn't like me to visit your house. It was summer, and when you hadn't come to visit me by noon, I knew something was wrong. Momma wouldn't let me visit you, but I waited for you all day. Finally, late at night, when the both of us should have been in bed, you came to my door. Pleasant enough to my mother, you nodded and asked to see me– as soon as we had gotten outside, away from the house, you told me. That was also the first time I've ever seen you cry. Somehow, it unsettled me, but it was over quick, and you were very quite. You were able to talk calmly, though there were tears coming down your be-freckled cheeks. I hugged you so hard, and you squeezed me back. I thought we would both snap in two. You had to go home, though. Your mother needed you.

Did you ever know that you're my hero,
and everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle,
for you are the wind beneath my wings.

Paperback novels on a hillside. Something that I'll never forget. It was a part of me that was deeper entwined in my heart than even acting. To be able to be completely immersed in the book, yet still able to appreciate everything around you. Again, you shared this love, though we each enjoyed it privately. This was something that couldn't be done in companionship, but it was lonely, too. I think that when I wasn't able to be with you was when I loved you the most.

The love of my highschool years... tall, dark, handsome. He was one of the most popular boys in school, his hair slicked back and that look of cool detachment about him. Though at the moment I thought him the most wonderful thing in the world, I realize now he had nothing to you. Not your big, strong hands or your long nose, nor your quiet blue eyes. Strawberry blonde hair that refused to sit still, and such a sincere expression on your face. My best friend in the world, and the greatest love I could ever have, if only I'd opened my eyes!

Oh, but when you told me you loved me, how my heart cried! Unlike most, you didn't force a kiss on me. Nor did you want a response from me. You only said to me, your voice so soft I almost couldn't catch it, "I love you, my Butterfly. I love you, I love you–" And then you had stopped. I had been Sixteen at the time, youthful and stupid. I didn't answer. I didn't believe it. I refused to look at you, and stared instead at my feet. By the time I'd resolved to change the subject and looked up–you were gone. We didn't mention it again, and soon it was mostly forgotten. It was utter taboo that it was never to be mentioned.

Senior prom, you asked me to join you. I went instead with the football captain. When I left with him, I was proud. When we reached the prom, I was uncomfortable. And after the prom, when everyone dispersed, I was scared. He forced my first kiss on me, and could have... would have done more. He was drunk, and a jerk.

You picked me up at a gas station forty miles from your house. Of course, you arrived disheveled, jean pants put on quickly, a belt forgotten and your buttons missed most of their holes. My date had long since deserted me, having found two perfectly good women very willing to leave with him. Not once did I get a 'told you so' or anything. You told me you were sorry, that it was okay for me to cry.

It might have appeared to go unnoticed,
but I've got it all here in my heart.
I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it.
I would be nothing without you.

Then the day came. That Day, the Wretched Day that I will never let myself forget. Of anything it could be, anything in the world, it had to be the one. Cancer. Lung cancer to be exact. Never smoked in your life, it was your mom's fault. She smoked right next to your healthy self every single day.

You were so brave! Went to school until you couldn't any longer. I visited you each day, coming to check on you, to tell you that I was here, that I would always be right there, right beside your bed. Fevered dreams, restless tossing, turning. Moaning in your sleep. So brave. You never told me you were scared. Selfless, too. I know now that if you'd said anything of the sort, everything would be so much harder for me. You became my Angel. I was your Butterfly, you my Angel. For a long while, I didn't want to call you that. But because we both knew death was imminent, calling you Angel gave us some hope, I think. Reminded you that there was more to come.

Death came quickly. I saw you, too. After you'd died, I saw you. Your face was pale, so very pale, your quiet freckles standing out startlingly. Though you always had been lanky, the illness made you thin, worn. Eyes sunken, not full of the cheerful life. So much life. As they lowered your casket into the ground, a single, persistant thought ran through my mind.

I never got to kiss you. The thought had never occurred to me, but when it did, it was sudden and persistent. I wanted to kiss you, feel soft, warm lips against mine. You could hold me to your chest, protect me, stroke my chestnut hair. I died then... at that moment, some part of me died, and it wouldn't be revived. I live for you, each night I pray for you, I sing for you, I act for you. You are my hope, my savior. My love.

You are the wind beneath my wings.

You are my Angel.

A/N I'm not really a big fan of tragedies... this one pretty much wrote itself. Yup–it's cliche. Completely. It was, however, enjoyable to write. For some reason, when I think angel, I see this tall, thin, softly freckled, strawberry blonde haired adolescent. He's wearing khaki corduroy jeans and a white dress shirt. Strange, eh? Ah well. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it, cheesiness and all!