these push pins placed on my heart, are tiny objects
a sense of purpose, holding important things together
sleek marble, where my feet stand
sun glistening through glass and the water shimmering
a metal box, holding the combinations of my brain, light up
self sculpting shows sunshine, like gold glitter confetti
photos with images of success, pass me by
while people dance in a silhouette
mirrored love of a bright soul
Almost was not mine to begin with.
they could have been,
but, then again maybe not.
We didn’t grow apart,
like trees rooted in the right place
we were a missed opportunity.
It was fall, not spring
I think..
I fell..
not in love,
but for the illusion.
of our possibility.
and I don’t feel empty,
you were absent long before we were over,
we just didn’t have that compatibility.
this new version of missing you,
I don’t want to label.
so that one day we might meet,
with much more stability.
For an almost love,
is better than an unrequited one.
am I a hopeless romantic?
or a thinker of realistic?
can’t I be both?
upon closer inspection,
like stars in a galaxy.
we refuse to collide,
oh, how I wish
upon that shooting star,
to merge once again.
just for a second.
We have a problem with love
is it the idea of being vulnerable?
but would the connection be real?
if there is no space for that vulnerability?
You, me, us, we.
the love does not,
collide, explode, flourish.
It does not stand a chance.
For love takes time,
And time takes love.
call me ‘in denial.‘
I won’t call you ‘the one that got away.’
but I still dream of the almost love,
that’s all I wanted to say.
I can’t do anything for you anymore. I’m trying to save myself.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night
