To my angel. I love you

I think of the melody my name makes when it's spoken by her
gentle lips, and it makes me smile. I very seldom, but when
I do it's usually with her support, or simply by her doing.
I remember when we first met...it took us time to realize we
were both soldiers, and in the same army. We were battling
mankind for mankind, and we were bitterly losing. We knew we
would. However we knew we had to fight on, that there must
still be some good.
She's not a fighter, though. She's an artist, and beautiful
like art itself. She too is filled with rage, only that she,
unlike me, knows how and when to stop rage from consuming
her. She usually screams her agony and frustration on a
piece of paper, just like me. Only that I write words, and
she creates pictures. "Visual Arts" they call it. She's
talented, as if she knows how to share some of her beauty
with her creations. Some of her heart.
Unfortunately, the higher forces have forced upon us a test.
She and I are located in different continents. The pain is
sometimes unbearable. Yet we go on, keeping each other
strong, being as together as we can.
Now it's probably 12 hours later than here over there at her
house. I close my eyes and think of her, and I see her near
her sketch board. Probably trying to paint a better world
for everyone. For me and her.