from the series: Lovely Runner

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Dear You, ‎ ‎
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      To You, Who Never Chose Me,

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I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, 
or if your name still fits in my mouth 
the way it once did—soft, hesitant, 
like something I was afraid to lose 
before I even had it. 

You liked me, didn’t you? 
I saw it in the way you lingered, 
in the silence that stretched 
like an unanswered question. 
You looked at me like I was something 
almost worth holding, almost worth staying for.
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    But Almost Was All You Ever Gave    Me. 

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And I— 
I let myself believe in ghosts, 
in the way your hands hovered near but never touched, in the way your words felt like promises but never quite became them. 

I let myself think I wasn’t enough, 
that maybe if I had been softer, 
quieter, prettier in the ways you liked, 
you would have wanted me enough
to do something about it. 
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   But You Didn’t. And I Still Wonder Why. 

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Was I too much?
Or were you too afraid?
Or was it just never real to you
in the way it was to me?

It aches, you know?
To be so close to being chosen
and yet never quite held.
To feel wanted in glimpses,
but never in certainty.
To watch you hesitate—
over me, over us—
until hesitation became your answer.

I hope someday, if you think of me,
it isn’t just in passing.
I hope I am not just a
"could-have-been,"
but a moment you regret letting slip away.

And I—
I will try to forget
how much I once wished
you had stayed. 

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Ever Wondering,
Me