The Science of Loneliness

 There is a methodology of the mind that speaks to the silence of the heart,
as if the understanding of the mysteries- lie in the very things that drive us apart.
I want to go back in time- begin again from the moments leading up to the start
when your fears replaced your tears as our world unraveled then split then frayed, 
I would have stayed- I wanted to say,
I would have stayed- I should have prayed. I want to take back the seconds until
I have enough to fill the entirety of a single day, I want to recapture that 
last laugh, like the instant I knew it was slipping away through my fingers, down,
down into the sands as I recognized that my theory had failed to address
the empirical demands that comes from the science of loneliness. 

 If I could hypothesize how it felt as I watched you fading like mist into my past,
 the feelings would rival what I knew almost for certain that love could outlast. 
It cannot be quantified like a mathematical algorithm in order to recast
scenarios that played out in my head without answers, without contrast
 like an old daguerreotype photograph rusting away along the edge
the image blurring into streaks like tear tracts, as if the clarity of our pledge 
fails to escape the traps that I set to capture the framework of our memories
and all is gone for the lack of effort like unspoken words, requested on my knees.
Now just another page from the books I would have written in order to compress
my own fruitless desires down into the annals of the science of loneliness.

I want to know that there are facts to support this, that I have more than just some data 
from trials to reminisce, and that there are ways to record the details of each touch, each trace,
of each embrace, of each kiss- but what is worse, is that everything about you is what I really miss. I must go to the conclusion, I guess, as I beat myself up once again, in order to confess-
after all of these revelations- I know nothing of love nor the science of loneliness.