A death in the wishlist (pt. II)

It was four months and two weeks ago when I first laid eyes on you.
And every day since, Lady Vita, often in the morning, afternoon and night, I have checked up on you, made sure you were still there, made sure you hadn't had a within-reach markdown -- in all honesty, sometimes I would click over just to look at you, just to marvel at your sleek gunmetal body, your demure, oval-shaped lead and yes, of course, that intricate over-the-toe detailing no Zara, no BCBGirls and no Steve Madden could ever replicate.
Last night you were there. This morning you were there. Just four hours ago, again, you were there. But as has happened before, in the blink - no, in the half blink - of an eye, someone who had the means, someone who didn't waste her funds on protein smoothies, throwaway iTunes and copious amounts of moisturizer, drop-down-menu-ed your last 37.5 and stole you away from me. Or rather, stole the idea of you away from me.

I thought we could pull through and make it to Christmas bonus season together. I really did.

As was the case the last time I experienced a major death in my wishlist, I now turn to my favorite fem-poet for solace and perspective.

And Enya. Lots and lots of Enya.

But Not Forgotten*
(Dorothy Parker)

I think, no matter where you stray,

That I shall go with you a way.

Though you may wander sweeter lands,

You will not soon forget my hands,

Nor yet the way I held my head,

Nor all the tremulous things I said.

You still will see me, small and white

And smiling, in the secret night,

And feel my arms about you when

The day comes fluttering back again.

I think, no matter where you be,

You'll hold me in your memory

And keep my image there without me,

By telling later loves about me.

*poem taken from Parker's second book of verse, Sunset Gun (1927)