Hypothetical Dinner for Two

Hypothetical dinner for two.  I've got a rhetorical question for you.  What if, years ago, I was on this menu?  Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Hypothetical glass of champagne.  To celebrate my impeccable disdain.  Do you ever think about me?  In between your perfect life and the mundane.
I'm only curious, of course.

Hypothetical ring on your finger.  An admission this juxtaposition may linger.  You say I'm just beating a dead horse.  And I am agreeing, of course. 
Hypothetical awkward silence at first.  The best laid plans of men are rarely rehearsed.  I'll lean on a cinematic impulse.  I'm just dreaming, of course. 

Hypothetical misstep.  Let's refer to it as regret.  A rhetorical quip escapes from my lips.  Do you wish we had not met?  Did I waste too much of your youth?  Indifference is hard to translate but easy to interpret.  Ambivalence, my dear, should never be a secret.  I can handle the truth.  I'm just kidding, of course.

The honeymoon is over, hypothetically speaking.   As we grow older, I find us more intriguing.  The further apart, any signs of affection are often misleading.  We can argue about life but only one of us is breathing.  I'm drowning in hyperbole again.  With certainty, it's just a matter of when.  No one has ever been killed by a dead horse.  Hypothetical remorse is just rhetorical, of course,

Hypothetical dinner for two.  I've got an unconventional question for you.

Do you miss me?