Locking wild things in cages never works out quite the way you hoped.
What you loved, of course, was the fact that she was so perfectly free, but by holding her to you, you took away her beauty, stripped her of her wings.
Pinned like a butterfly beneath your adoring gaze, she faded into greyscale, vibrancy disappearing behind bars of belonging, and you didn't understand.
But then, how could you? All you ever intended to do was love her, even though all she was capable of loving was the sky.
Just a child when you first saw her flying free, you stared at her in wonderment.
Love at first sight.
You grew into a man, and she grew more beautiful, and you dreamed of making her yours.
The day she landed on you finger, the beating of her wings matched that of your heart. You sang her a lullaby, and she went home with you that night.
Sitting with her legs crossed on the wooden floor, she watched helplessly as you built a cage around her, and from that day on, she never moved.
You never noticed the way her tears fell as stardust that night, or the way her wings tangled with the strings binding the cage, and she never told you, for the two of you didn't speak the same way.
The stardust turned to gold as you slept, and it crept up the bars, and when you woke, you saw an angel in a gilded cage, with eyes that couldn't see.
Years passed, until, one day, you realised she wasn't beautiful anymore, so you opened the door and called to her, but she never moved.
You carried the cage outside, untangled her wings, and sang to her, but she didn't wake.
You shed a tear, and walked inside, leaving her behind.
The seasons came and went, and you grew older still. The years, perhaps, were not particularly kind to you, imprisoning you inside your own cage, your aging body.
Eighty years had passed since you set out to make perfection yours, and at your funeral, an angel sang you a lullaby, and gave you eternal sleep, six feet under the stars.