"Angel of mine, I remember the day you became human to me, vividly. Too many tears I have cried on account of you, many days I would come home, lock myself in my room and let my heart burst upon the fate the world cast on you and I. You were my brush with White-Magic, I didn't think you truly existed, almost ethereal. For many years you seemed like an Angel sent to sooth my pain, or a joker to lift my heart with laughter, Gabriel and Loki all rolled into one. You inspired me so much, and taught me how to stand up for myself, and I will not forget that. Yet, one day my Angel, you lost your wings and became human. I read, a letter, not meant for my eyes, imbued with the same ethereal words you saved for me, only that I realize you could say them so easily to someone else. And, that my conjured Angel, is the day the spell was lifted, the day you became human."

I wish I still had this email from my ex, yet it is lost in the oblivion we call the internet. Many years later, I'm forced to try to recall the exact words and the tone of her email, and I'm left reconstructing it through writer's license. Though, the words are my own, I stand by that they faithfully represent was actually said. As it is, I have a great memory for things that concern me, and this concerns me a great deal. I think this is a mantle unfairly placed upon me, for you see, I was always human. Imbued with the same capacity for great things, and terrible things as anyone else. Perhaps our difficult situation at the time made her see me in this unlikely light, a person who healed her wounds, who soothed her psyche, who opened her eyes to the larger world. Yet, I question how much of this was ever really true, I always felt it is a burden that I needed to shed but never did for I feared failing her. I was never an Angel, I merely kept my failings well hidden, or perhaps she was just too blinded, until her eyes opened at last.

I think, it was a grand jest. I am much more pragmatic now than I was then, and I tend to break down the idealism of love into theories. One, is that passionate crazy love is merely a construct of difficult circumstances, put barriers between two people and the more hunger they will feel to satisfy their need. An aside to this, is that this is the only love I consider real, everything is fake, I am no worn shoe for you to get accustomed to, the day I consider someone that is the day the music dies. We had barriers! The World was against us, when the world lost, to whom did we struggle against? None still stood, and we were left only with our wholly imperfect selves, and so I withdrew, wrote no more, entered into a shell, stopped broadening my horizons. The luster deemed, and yes, I wasn't the only one that lost their Angel wings that day my love. The bitter fact is, that our loves might not survive a prettier face, a sharper wit, and I do not think it will ever really survive our capricious humanity.

Has anyone ever felt something similar? Do you think perhaps that too great an expectation was placed upon you, only to falter at the end, forever changing the way your significant other looked at you?