I told you once what you did to me. I told you of the six year marathon I ran to get to you. I told you everything and no one stopped me, even though they knew it was meaningless. But at least you know. You know I loved you and you know what you were to me. You were golden days and painful nights. You were tears never wasted and the reason for years of sad poetry. You were a novel waiting to happen that people will read and see you as I did.
Once you said you'd loved twice in your life and that I was one of them. That was a pretty lie.