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.