She loved him. 
She thought of him every evening 
as the nightingales – 
unattached and optimistic – 
warbled their love-laden song,
taking to dance in the woods
of her childhood dreams.

She saw his reflection in the waters
of the fairy tales
her mother would read to her,
drifting asleep swaddled in the comfort
of a familiar voice. 

He loved her. 
He loved the excitement he felt
watching her move, 
her curious smile hinting
at the intoxicating dangers of
new worlds to explore. 

She breathed life into his desires, 
fattened him with the daring
recklessness of ancient conquerors. 
Through her, he would rewrite
the unfulfilled dreams
of his father and grandfather before him
confident in his ability to bend
the generational arc. 

They couldn’t find love
for each other. 
Conquistadors and nightingales
move in different worlds
each colored by shared instincts
survival and ego, power and lust
happiness the unfortunate casualty
of seeing through one set of eyes.