She was Love.She in herself wasimpervious to the tension of the earthfor her exterior to crumble,for earthquaking carcinogensto filter,to trickle,to dismantle.She was ethereal.Her footsteps tread lightly.Her head held in a manner thatwhosoever glimpsed her beautywould question the absence of wings at her backwould not feign respectHe thought that was so at least.She was a shapeshifter.Merely unfolding the aspect of herself that was most pleasingto the sort of man who still needs someone to savelike a prince who needs to wake some distraught maiden with his kiss.Except this wasn't that.Chivalry isn't dead.I probably should have warned him,but her execution was flawless.He was drawn to her much likethose who are dry tongued seek water.Similarly, to how those in the desertcome eventually to a palmed tree oasisprepared to quench thirst.He sought her,but she, too, was merely a mirage.