Somewhere along the way, I lost myself in you.

I allowed the part of me that used to be,

fade into the existence that you created for me.

I can’t explain this feeling.

Everything about who we have become

has eaten away at me slowly,

drained every bit of the strong,

independent woman that used to look back at me

when I glanced a mirror.

I am dumbfounded with these emotions

that I know should not exist.

Yet here I am, writing this letter to confess

this love that I know has killed me on the inside,

this love that has transformed me into

one of those silly girls that I used to talk about.

I have allowed myself to become vulnerable and,

even though I know that my life would prosper

in many ways without you,

I just can’t imagine a future without the

scent of you on my pillow.

I breathe you in the morning

like sausage cooking or a fresh breeze after a storm.

Your touch gives me energy, brings my soul to life.

When you are gone, the only comfort I have is that you will return.

Sometimes in the middle of the night.

Sometimes in the morning light,

but whenever you come, I am revived.

Your love is like a butterfly;

beautiful, colorful, and soothing,

but awfully hard to catch. And yet I wait.

I wait for the moment that your eyes

glow at the sight of me,

that your heart beats anxiously

when you know that our time together grows near.

I wonder where you go when the sun catches you,

when I awake only to the scent of you.

Do you ever contemplate how my heart aches,

how I long for you until I am empty on the inside.

Is this the feeling that you want my heart

to adjust to so that you can find comfort in yourself?

And how long do you expect me to accept your deliberate disrespect

for this grand love that I have willingly given to you

without conditions attached?

How long would you wait?