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He was fine wine.
I was intoxicated with him, slurring into delusions of grandeur. And when he is gone and I sober, I realize i didn't like the taste much, that I didn't like how he made me feel, but how I thought I was because of how he was.
Lovable. Exemplary. His equal.
I was a queen of a blurry world - a world I thought I had made WITH him. I know now I made it alone with his influence.
Did I even know Billy's full name?
He left an aftertaste that takes a vigorous wash to rid of.
And even then, whenever I glance at a bottle, I recall the sudden rise of echelon, its long plateau, and steep plummet.
Bed ridden, blind, deaf, and dumb
a hangover with worse withdrawal symptoms than I could bear
Most of the time, I swore, he made this of me
I waited it out, slumbering restlessly, dreaming to pass the time
And when he was gone, I waited still for the wounds to heal
Coquettish reveries became provocative nightmares
I loved to wake in the salt of my sweat, that I could illicit any sort of feeling midst night when so many were devoted to you

When I took my first steps from mourning, I saw myself for what I was: a convalescent.
I was mummified but revenant.
I seemed stripped to the bone - flesh tightly pulled over
I feared, I recalled, and was infuriated
for the first time, finally
I was petrified and proud
I was superior and stony
I was over it
It took a glance
to shatter me
as I thawed, sentiments oozed
Slowly first, but then inhibitors burst
The wounds were deeper than I remembered them to be
I wanted to be the same again - intact
Return to lovableness
But efforts were bunk

I wouldn't be the same, but allowing mood to rule my sovereign wasn't quite me either
It took time, but I wasn't so alienated by my own name anymore.

I drowned in him and diluted myself to nothing.
I still wince at the brand of him.