Here's a poem for you, if we're back to that:

I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,
Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom’s atom or I die
Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life’s purposes,—the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!

It's Keats.

It reminds me of you. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe it reminds me of me. I've been thinking about it (much as I try not to) and I've realized part of the reason I miss you so much is that I miss the person I got to be when you were around. That will probably offend you, so let me add — of course I miss you, too. But what I miss most is the fantasy world I had when we were together. You know that I lied to you about some things at the beginning, but even when we started telling the truth in the summer there were still so many things I never told you. At first I didn't think I could — I still didn't think you'd care, despite what you said about feelings and everything. It wasn't until September, after my sister was kidnapped, that I realized you really meant it. I loved you for that, but I still didn't tell you anything. By then I didn't want to. If you didn't know about my mother overspending and my brother drinking poison and my friends having breakdowns and all of that, then that meant I didn't have to carry all of that with me when I was with you. I could pretend for a few hours that it didn't exist and I could be this different version of myself who didn't have to care about so many things. I could pretend I only cared about you.

You were pretending, too. We didn't talk about your wife except when we fought about it over the summer, or your child except that day in Paris. Maybe there were other things. I guess that's part of why things had to end; there was just too much dissonance between our little fantasy world and reality. It couldn't sustain itself. 'One-thoughted, never wandering, guileless love,' but there were too many things pulling at it, too many ways to wander, and eventually it had to.

I knew it had to end but I don't think I realized what that would mean for me. I imagined I would miss you. I didn't think about how much I would miss all the rest of it. 'Withhold no atom's atom or I die,' — well, I did; the person I got to be when I was with you died when I left, and now I'm just left with the person I am. I don't like him very much. He's terrible company.

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