Last night I finally said goodbye.

In many ways, perhaps, our early loves are always phantoms
echoes of what we wish to see
tinged by rose-tinted hormones
flushed cheeks

Drunk on fresh love's elixir,
we pledge our troth to an hallucination
bind our hands to a passing dream.

At least, I would like to believe I was not the only one.

I loved you so much. Too much? It's possible
Also quite likely I shall never love like that again.

I miss you, even as I know
You were never really there. 

Goodbye, sweet love.

May the nothing treat you kindly.

[There is a blank space in my soul;
try as I might, I can't help sending a piece with you.]