A cherished friend once told me:
You are who you love.
I am much of her. And I am much of my other cherished friends.

A lost love lives on in this way
I am so much of him - I practically am him. I've loved so much I've left myself behind.

In the streets of Manhattan, my soul left me. Maybe it stayed there, awaiting my return
With some new fling on my arm
To take me to the opera.

I gave away my lightness and naivity to a dark, cold man who I know is more than that [there has to be more than that].

I left my pride in Toronto on Bloor street
Where I  flirted with 3 [three] men. I wanted them all. I still want them all.

But I took only one. Except he took me. In moments he loves me so much he turns into me. But it is fleeting. And it has gone.

So as we let go we regain ourselves. I will take back my optimism, thank you.

And I will remain as myself until we meet again. Maybe then we won't be so selfish and take so much,
Only to give so little.