He chased her like drifting clouds,
a beauty beheld, he longed for her,
adorned her with jewels, sparkling, brilliant,
like her eyes, reflected in the stars.
He filled her milieu with flowers,
and all fine things she could ever imagine
he was entirely captivated, primed to run away,
to abandon his world of riches,
for her sake and for his.
Blinded by a charm that is visible only in the eye;
forgetting the heart in which fate truly lies
he loved her genuinely,
truly, she was his paragon of happiness;
his one and only goal.
And yet he got nothing in return
not love, not her heart, nor her soul
abandoned, despised, and forgotten,
not a single stem was offered.
Now he wonders in his deep slumber,
forever mourning, and reaching,
for that green light,
a love he knew that was never meant to be his.
I'm so sorry, I just had to write this. The Great Gatsby broke me.