A Useless Pray

On a twilight an angel pray on her knees told God, asking why she as she is. I am not hot. I am not that interesting. I don't have nothing.

All these years, the angel only lived on a twilight. It was an infinite room of people glowing. So often she swayed by the golden dim of others that she beginning to cling into them.

I wish for that angel to tell her that she already glow beautifully.

Hi, angel, do you hear me?

Not a slender body nor a finest Spain guitar.
Not a A, B, C, nor D.
Not smart nor clumsy.
Not independent nor helpless.

It's just you.