A story of... Oh my!

Shall it start with I
and run across time?

Will it tell about sighs
and losses of sight?

Could it draw upon the tide
of a thirst that will not die?

Let it borrow instead your eyes,
let it not be told starting with I

for, into this story, adrift of present day,
strayed from the hearted I,

left to the sparse foam of time,
only dids and didn'ts will pour, no whys.