you were my ardent only, 
my every half-formed thought, 
and though you were my everything, 
you weren't quite what i sought 

and so i turned attention 
to what was new, and young, 
and gave to all the friends i found 
myself daily among 

but some may love for money, 
and others love for looks, 
but me, i loved for nothing 
and now i'm left with books 

i bought when i was younger, 
and you were still my stay; 
the focus of a wasted man 
who threw it all

away