You have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvelous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid.
Today I discard you. You are a hope long cherished that I now throw away. Any further hoping is a waste of time. Depart from me. Go away, you and the me you have made. Be still and stop creating ripples that become tsunamis without you knowing them. Look at the calamity you brought, feel the invisible damage you have caused me, had you any feeling. Leave. Take with you every trace of memory, delete every imprint that you unsuspectingly created.
From now on, you cease to exist. You have died, along with my love that you killed. You are nothing except my biggest hope that has faded away, beyond any chances of resurrection. You are my greatest what-if - you have been and you always will be. Now you are dead.
And you have killed me.
*First paragraph lifted from Oscar Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray.