You've started comparing her to lovesick champagne and lonesome nights.
You wouldn't admit that you could feel (her) love slipping out of your reaches as she faded, like shooting stars crossing into daylight and sunset colors as the sky darkens into midnight.
I've told you before that envy is a sin, and now you wonder if you're a sinner.
One day she thanked you and bid you farewell (for the final time) and you said - and I quote - that it felt like [all the goodbyes everyone has ever said to you, all at once].
Now I watch as you stare at photos you took with her, of her.
I watch as your eyes moist and your lips tremble, as if the ghosts of all her smiles came rushing to haunt your heart.
(Does she feel like a fever dream?)
You loved her, and she wished she could have told you it would be a tragedy.