Mon Amour

I met my love a year older than me. She walked gracefully; her pearly eyes shining in the moonlight. She scented of rose and lavender, and had a voice that spoke in a tone of warmth and unexpected melancholy. At first, I felt lost, for it was without hope to love. As desperate as it was, a love was just a love. It gave off no fruits and was one sided. I had no place alongside her. She was her, and I was myself. She had the figure of a divine being; a face of a goddess. All I could do was dwell upon the matter. A hopeless love indeed it was. Her smile, as many may describe it: a captivating force; one that angels begrudge. A lost love, with no beginning, and no end.