Love. When neither one trusts the other one cares at all. Not one bit.
One thinks the other hates them, with their guts. The other thinks the other is nonchalant. The epitome is when two persons sit on a bench in a fading summer’s day in silence, not thinking of anything other than it feels better to be near each other than it does not to be. Not a matter of conversation simply presence. Then they aren’t lonely. They are happy. But love, forsaken, taken for granted and lost to eternal thought, never makes its presence known.