when she was fifteen

Once there was an innocent, yet very sensual young girl
She thought she'd met the man of her dreams
He had freckles and a foreign name
She loved him with all her being
He was the only man who ever fell in love with her youth
He tortured her in ways delicious
One day it wasn't fun anymore
His love had been a lie, or a fickle passing fancy
She realized she wasn't special
She realized he wasn't either
She couldn't take back the gift she'd given him

As she got older, she never forgot the pretended prince
And through the eyes of her older self
She saw him and herself for who they really were
She was just a girl
He was just a boy
They were just rutting like young people do
Why was she still thinking about it?
Why, through the cloudy veil of other lovers since, could she still recall the scent of him?
I know why
She wonders, though her youth is now waning, if there'll ever be another one
Not likely
Not impossible
Who knows?