Of course I love him.

It's my job to love him.

When I was first created there were certain conventions that I learnt about myself. I have endless patience, total acceptance and an infinite capability to love.

I have no choice about it really. Ineffability and all of that. I have to adore every hair on his head and scale on his body.

Free will is the gift of man, not angels. I never had a choice about loving the way he rocks up unannounced at my house with wine and sushi and a leer that would make a whore blush. I have to laugh when he gives me that wicked smile and leans out the window and sets off all the local animals with his singing.

I must enjoy his drunken serenades of love songs. He has no one else to sing them to, so I have to enjoy having him stare me in the eye while he does a routine of classic odes.

I don't have a choice about enjoying him sprawled over my sofa, boots on the cushions, head hanging over the arm while he watches me upside down. I have to let him ruffle my hair and pat my cheek in that manner that screams 'you're just too sweet, angel', even if he never again said the words after I pointed out how intimate it was.

And I had no choice about enjoying the intimacy that we found ourselves in. Living each other's pockets wasn't my idea of fun, being taken out all the time, forced to watch him at clubs while he hypnotised the mortals with his swaying body.

I only watch him to make sure he wasn't tempting anyone. I have to do that, it's my job. Thwarting the Enemy and such. I have to watch him.

I have to follow him about and invite him in. Who knows what he might do if left on his own? When he's with me, someone who has to love and understand him, he isn't terrorising the local population.

I have to laugh at his jokes, even if they are crude. Better to tell them to an angel who forgives all sins than a priest who might not be so forgiving.

I have to care about him. I have to worry when he shows up late. I have to care for him when he hears from his higher ups; or should that be lower downs?; and comes around morose and worried.

I have to care for him. No one else is going to do it, and an angel must not let suffering pass him by, not even in the Enemy. It just isn't the way things are.

Do you understand, I have to love every tiny thing about him. It's how I was made. It's what I am.

I have to love him.

It's ineffable.