If you’d told me sooner
I think I’ll always remember you
as the person I almost had.
And I hate the word almost*,*
because it means there was a chance.
There was a version of this
where maybe we could’ve been something.
I just didn’t know it then.
I didn’t know there was a right time
to tell you.
I didn’t know that while I was
trying to understand what I felt,
time was already making the decision for us.
And then you told me
I should’ve said something sooner.
I don’t think you’ll ever know
how much that hurt.
Because somehow,
“I never wanted you”
would’ve been easier.
I could’ve cried,
accepted it,
and eventually let you go.
But sooner?
Sooner means maybe.
Sooner means there was a moment
when you might’ve wanted me too.
And I missed it.
Sometimes I catch myself
trying to find that moment in my memories.
Wondering where it was.
What day??
What conversation??
What look I misunderstood.
Wondering if there was a version of me
who could’ve just been a little braver
and changed everything.
But I can’t keep living there.
I can’t keep going backward
looking for a door
that isn’t open anymore.
I’m trying to accept
that I felt enamored by something
that never really got the chance
to become anything.
And maybe healing
isn’t convincing myself
that you didn’t matter.
You did.
You probably always will,
in some small way.
I’ll remember the little things.
I’ll remember how it felt
before I knew I would have to let it go.
And I think, years from now,
when your name doesn’t hurt anymore,
a part of me will still wonder.
Not because I’m waiting for you.
Just because once,
somewhere between maybe and too late*,*
there was almost an us.
And I think I’ll always
be a little sad
that we never got to meet them.