A Final Love Letter To The Lesbian I Will Always Love

Passionate about your perfume,
the soft scent as I wake up,
enamoured by your essence,
and the brightness of your blurred eyes,
that fog and grow further away every time I close my own.
The fantasy of our love affair was my reality for so long,
prolonging the pain by pretending you might come home,
lone cyclone of loneliness by the door,
waiting to hear the whisper of your key,
but never being pleased.
I went shopping for boats,
because a man I loved once had a boat,
and it always impressed me,
so I thought I’d look less depressing and more breath taking if I, too, had a boat,
but alas,
it broke my bank before I’d even opened my purse,
so I purchased a bunch of books from exotic, exciting shelves,
to see if you’d prefer me when I pretended to be a clever girl.
I love you,
but I never deserved you,
and it’s not your fault,
but I’ve been hurting everyone who crosses my path since I lost my way and couldn’t find a road back to you.
I guess I wanted you to know,
that I’m a mess,
that I still love you,
just in case you decided that death was not all that there was left to see.
Would you like to come back?