I was a hair late.
Those mere hours were enough for her to put me on the back burner,
And move someone else to the front.
I was left wanting, waiting, and waning.

Yes, we will exchange pleasantries,
And even embrace on occasion.
But the embraces will be nothing more than reminders of how platonic I am,
Or how pathetic I've become.

The wayside by which I stand cannot be overcome by merely remaining hopeful.
Yet, the time for action has passed.
Though I still pine like the ghost of Neruda.