To The Man Who Was Almost The One For Me

You were my almost.

My could’ve been. My greatest what if.

You used to be the reason behind the excitement in my voice every time I talked about adventures. You’re still one of the people behind some of the happiest core memories I have. You made me believe about unrequited love and somehow, it’s not the kind of love worth losing yourself for. You made me strong. You made me think we could conquer it all but even creating valor out of trials, pain as foundation, and flaws as strength, it’s still not enough to be equipped in a battle you weredestined to lose for.

You were just another footbridge I was afraid to cross. The reason behind the free falls and bungee jumps. The things that made me tremble and hang for days. You wandered too far and forgot that you weren’t mine to keep.

You were everything that I could write, the letters and phonemes, all bind with eagerness. You were the reason I started seeing beauty in the littlest of things. You made me appreciate the wonders of people who live in the shadows and how the insides could always outlook the exterior.

You were the reason behind every sappy song I played and how each and every single one of them clings into my ears whispering, “I’m home.”  

You were just another poem written with hot tears and sad songs. You’ll be part of my story-merely a few chapters but not the whole book.

You were just a phase in a metamorphosis. The transition stage. The conditioning step that leaves a trail of marks in generating the other.

You were the interlocking chain of codes that are hard to crack that most people hate but you were the challenge I was always up for.

You were the abstract kind of art. The hardest painting to analyze. Every stroke came with complexity and fascination. Every detail in the portrait reminded me how marvelous you were.

You were the breathtaking view that’s a hundred kilometers away. The ones that people climb or wander to. Tiring but worth it. But always better seen from afar.

You were the hopeful wishes every 11:11, every fallen eyelash, every dandelion, and every new church. There’s no certainty but I still wish, anyway. You were someone else’s happiness or someone else’s sadness. And you were my favorite confusion, the one that left me in multiple emotions.

You were the preamble in her story or the epilogue she always wanted but for me, you were just my favorite conflict. The phase in a story where the dilemma occurs. The struggling phase. The one that leaves a trail of marks to go on to the next part. A part of the story, but never the end game.

Photo by Alvin Mahmudov on Unsplash


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