It seems for the first bit
I was always Gatsby,
Lightly tugging on threads
but never having anything unravel.
I'd march madly through the world
Missing the point, by love I was blind.
Daisy, oh Daisy,
To have her love again
'Twould be divine.

And then I lost my Daisy.
"She" flirted with the idea of a return.
But it never stuck, call it bad luck
Regardless, a lesson was learned.

In Part Three, the now,
Gatsby became Nick.
I saw my own self.
My self drawn hell
And I knew Gatsby
couldn't stick.

And I thought quietly to only myself...

To never return to Gatsby, old sport,
would be quite swell.