Dear Julian,

How you managed to pull this off, I will never know. We are in the Maldives.

Like, the actual Maldives.

I'd ask you to pinch me, if you wouldn't actually take me up on the offer.

It's Christmas Day, but you'd never know it, if not for the proof on the calendar. It's a little past six in the morning, but it's already a comfortable 80 degrees (err, 27 degrees Celsius) in the Dhaalu Atoll.

I would've stayed in bed with you longer, but your phone was buzzing, and when I stirred from the sound, I noticed the most beautiful mauve shade peeking through the windows. I had to know what it felt like to be swallowed whole by that color, from our villa's upstairs deck. From up here, the hues of the sky have just got me thinking.

...Do you believe in heaven, Julian?

I know I've asked you this before, but I long to hear your answer again. I need to hear the soft cadence - the ebb and flow - of your voice as you explain it once more. Because for years, I've been struggling, but I think I agree with you now.

I think we're already here.

It's hard to imagine the world without a heaven now. How could you, in all of your sublimity, even exist without it? Maybe your existence is all the proof I ever needed.

Maybe your eyes were the doorway, out of my doorless room.

Maybe your hands - calloused with years of wear - are proof that roughness cannot exist without the gentleness of soft intentions.

Maybe your lips are the mouthpiece, telling of all the stories that I never knew I was dying to hear. The best one being the story of us.

I want to know how the story ends, but I'm in no rush to skip ahead. Not right now.

The sky is a flushed coral before me, and I think I know why.

See, everyone believes guardian angels are humans that have already passed away. But they're wrong, Julian. I would've never believed it before, but guardian angels can be living, too.

Walking among us.

A stranger who offers a soft smile in a sea of grimaces, on a busy street.

A pair of protective eyes that you feel upon yourself, when you're completely alone.

A ringing phone when you're about to make a terrible mistake.

A chance meeting, that maybe isn't so much about "chance" after all.

Yes, Jules. The sky is painted rouge... as if a higher power is blushing at his pride over creating something so perfect as the boy that sleeps soundly downstairs.

Maybe, if you ever saw this letter, you'd roll your eyes at me. Maybe you'd scoff at the cliché notion. Maybe you'd laugh at the seemingly preposterous idea. But Julian, I have a feeling embedded deep within my stomach, that you're my living angel.

You saved me already.

Maybe you're going to save me again someday, when I need it the most.

Lately, I've been thinking...

When I lost my dad, I lost my protector. Maybe, just maybe, my dad made a deal with God... cashed in some of his hero brownie points, to get you to me. The new protector of my heart.

I wish you could've met him, Jules.

But maybe I'm just talking crazy now.

- B