Sprinkle my thoughts, dear, with the unmemories of a hundred joyous lazy days
Days neither gone by nor to come, but that never were,
Pulled from me (or us?) by the vagaries of fate, distance, and time.

I see things that never were and never will be,
Conversations that never will be had,
Compliments that will never have been exchanged.
The pain of losing what I never had is the strangest and deepest pain of all,
But even a lost future can hardly compare to a lost past,
Reinterpretation of what was crashing down upon what had been.

I spend too much time thinking on what was and what could have been,
Finding myself idly poking through your leavings like some electronic archaeologist,
Wondering where all went wrong.

Perhaps in math it'd be more clear -
Let x(t) be your love for me,
y(t) my love for you,
A parametric function of which I at least know
The limiting behavior as t gets big
Must always descend whimpering into the origin.

Because just as the opposite of fun is boredom,
The opposite of love is indifference,
And it is into this entropic mess
That my feelings for you have drifted
As you push yourself further and further away.

It isn't that you left me, fox, but rather that you've walled yourself off from me,
High marble and impenetrable steel, or perhaps titanium and concrete.
It hardly matters. All I say flies unheard and unfelt anyway,
Arrows tipped not with iron but with ink.

You've got better things to do, better people to be with.
As yet I don't, but that'll change with time and patience,
And when it does, perhaps I will have forgotten you, mysterious callous fox from across the border,
Wretched days having turned to painful weeks turning to months that aren't as numb as I had secretly hoped.

And perhaps one day our paths will cross again, but until then you are dead and silent to me,
A frozen gray statue in stone, back turned, ears flattened.

And I know that to some extent I did this to myself, though your share is the greater,
But that doesn't, can't stop me from wanting what I had.

Even if the keep that is my life must someday crumble to dust,
And even though every life must have some pain,
Why is it so much to ask that I sit not on a throne of stone but one of fur?,
Among those I trusted and loved instead of cold and alone?