Too Real

She was too real for my youth, I was stunned by her, she came to my eyes so unbearably perfect that her very presence challenged belief in any other. Her beauty seemed reborn in every second. No longer was time my jailer, no longer was I a chained thought locked within a silent skull. She freed me, I became a bird in her hand, there I flew to her fingertips and sang ethereal love songs songs that had never touched the earth below. Years later, cruel time cursed me with dull black eyes in which her star could no longer shine. I forgot how to love her, forgot how to be simple. She had become an ice-figure carved out of my unthawing memory. It seemed to me there, in my shallow grave of undying loss, that she had never happed, but it was I who had never happened enough, nor sang brightly enough. Then the night came to dig us both a place to be lost in.