Unrequited Love: The Memory of You Is More Desirable Than Your Presence

I spent decades mourning the loss of my father's energy.

The depths of that sorrow created the altitudes at which I love.

Unfortunately, we live in wicked times.

Righteous virtues are no longer valuable.

Not even of equal value to wickedness.

Lust disguised as love, dictating decision making.

At this point, the memory of you is more desirable than your presence.

I once dreamed of a love like:

Play fighting on which the beaches I was raised in summer camp days

Chasing each other through the sand, only to fall in the lake waters of my teenage fever.

Downing airplane bottles of elixirs; to soar higher than I once thought I could; in jungles I could only escape when chaperone sings

Quantum entanglements, deep in the densely fogged mountains; o Appalachia

I lived it a few times over.

Whether a dream or reality; it's all remembered in a dream state of yesteryear.

Yearning for that ole thing back.

The question that remains:

Is it or was it ever worth it anyway (the time, the energy, & the place it rents in my consciousness)?