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I am sitting on a throne of white marble, ornamented with shining gold. Every corner of the memory is bathed in a clear, powerful white light that engulfs everything to the point that it is almost blinding.

But I have been here before.

Beside me, a torch lit on fire, on my other side, a golden cup. Right in front of me, descending stairs that lead me to a point where my sight does not reach, deep into the clouds down below.

Rays of sunlight touch my skin and make it glitter, and the air as fresh as it has ever been. Heaven is lonely when you have nobody to share it with. The distant sound of choirs and trumpets in perfect harmony but I am all above.

I can stand up and extend my wings, and although one of my shoulders is uncovered, my halo can give me the warmth I need to live so high up. My wings are as white as the clouds below me, pure and filled with resistant feathers.

I begin to go down the stairs as it calls me, and I just dissipate into the clouds.

Wherever it is, whoever it is, whenever it is.

I know I have been there.

I know I must be there.

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