Backhand my dreams

Tonight the stories came true.  Lying there, on the cold brick, I suddenly realized there was nothing hopeless or romantic or perfectly sad about the situation.  My cheek hurt, my heart hurt, and I was too scared to move, too scared to breath.  No room for air in my lungs so I collapsed, and looking up at the sky though dazed eyes I saw millions of brilliant ever constant stars.  The same stars, three and a half years ago, that we kissed under for the very first time. 
Love is so much worse than the movies or the books say, Scarlett O'Hara never had to chose between her self identity and any of her husbands, she told them all to go to hell and so she did. Maybe that's why she ended up alone at the end of the movie.  No woman can be both loved and love herself, I'm learning this now.
So let me throw it all away, the friends, the things I love doing, everything I know about myself.  I would give it all up and go back to the cowering shell- I would!  If only then, you would love me again.  If only I would be your "goddess" again, if I would be that person who made you say "wowwww."  But I'm not, anymore.  I'm old and dried up and used, I understand.  That hurts enough.  No need to add physical pain.
I love you and that will never stop.  So why do our perfect months have to end like this?