She wasn't real.

I once knew a girl with eyes of steel. She had balls of steel and a heart of steel too. She looked like something regal, something ephemeral, something not quite real. I melted that heart of steel with broken promises and aspirations bigger than her or I.

We spent a summer of lovemaking, of dipping toes into ponds, eating pralines from each other's mouths. We spoke every hour; small innocuous texts which if unanswered would make us break into sweat. Tensions would mount until we could see each other again and take in each other, greedily, jealously, always with a little blood. 

She would cover my chest and neck in bites. People would giggle and ask "haha, are you 13?" She would fall into my lap like a ragdoll and fall asleep in my arms until dawn broke. She would slam doors and break mugs during fights and grip my skin in the throes of making up. She hurt my head with her frowns and pouts. She said “no!” often and loud.

That heart of steel disappeared one day, she stared at me and I looked away. She knew, I knew, I had won the war while she had won the battles. She waved the white flag and rubbed my feet. Those eyes of steel were no longer cold or hard, the heat she gave was too hot to bear. I burnt my hands, my feet, my heart and my soul.

She was never unreal, she was real. She didn't walk, she was forced to leave. She never cried. She remained silent and cold. Her eyes would see through me. She could see the hurt and the shame. She polished that heart of steel until it gleamed so bright, it would hurt your eyes. The heat had disappeared never to be seen again. In its place a wintry shower staked it’s place.

They say a mirror doesn’t lie. This one is throwing all sorts of truth back at my face. The girl with eyes of steel looks on from a distance. Arms folded, she’s cross and disappointed. She moves with stealth like a jaguar in the forest. Once or twice I see flashes of her steely gaze, too short, too momentary for a lasting reunion. I remember her at dawn. When the sun is breaking, that’s the best time to remember her neat little shape. On my lap, in my bed, she slept like a deer, never moving.