You know, when I think of her, the first thing I see is her arms. Yes, her arms. Not her flawless hair that flowed down to her waist and transformed from an everyday brown to a golden honey yellow; if the light hit her just right.

Nor her eyes, which glimmered such an intense shade of green, they made you wonder if it wasn't that Jade was named after her, instead of the other way around.

No, it's her arms that I see when I close my eyes. Why her arms when she had a smile as addictive as cocaine and as crystal white as the snow she loved to make angels within. She'll never know now; that I saw her as my angel.

Even though her hair was flawless, her eyes glimmered, and her smile made me feel as if it was the only thing I needed in the world; I see her arms in my head now, as clear as day. Not because they were too skinny or too fat; too long or too short. No, they were perfect to me, just like the rest of her.

The reason I see her arms before anything else is because I didn't see them enough. I never took the time to really look at them. My love made me want to study every part of her, yet still, I overlooked her arms, the place where the pain and agony she held inside of her could be released from her body. It was her arms, not her hair, her eyes or her smile.

No, it was her arms that bled till she became what I saw her as. It is her arms; they are what haunt me now.

They are the reason I wage war against time, wishing so hard that I could turn back the clock and travel to when the only angels were the ones we made in the snow.