seventeen

She fits utterly in your hands.  Her face is like an angel.  Her words allure you.  Hold her.  Keep her safe.  But you grow tired of your birds feather.  They loose their brilliance to you.  She no longer sings the same sweet melody you once adored.  So you cast her aside to search the darkness for another.  You find one.  You fine two.  They have her face but cannot draw upon her eyes.  You find three.  You find four.  Their songs are beautiful but not filled with the passion you once yearned for.  Their melody does not soothe your savage nature like hers did.  Five. Six.  Their bodies are stunning, but their minds do not relent to your cold and comforting hands.  They flinch while she begged for more.  Seven. Eight. This search for the next perfect pet loses its appeal.  The creatures you have found have filled you with lackluster joy. You long for your true first.  But, time has passed.  Much too long for her to allow you to hold her in your hands again.  You beg for her song, her words, her eyes.  Holding out your palm, pleading with her to stay. She turns with tear stained cheeks and flies away.  Heartbroken, you walk humbly back into your darkness.