Almost

By chevvi

I miss you like we had something,
like I held a title I never wore.
Like your silence was a language
I kept trying to translate
into love.

We were never “together,”
but I showed up like I was.
Softened my voice,
waited on texts,
folded parts of myself small
just to fit the space you offered—
and even that felt like home
for a while.

I loved you in the in-between,
in the pauses,
in the maybe somedays
and not yets.
I gave you my care
without conditions—
you gave me confusion
dressed as closeness.

So how do you grieve
someone you never had?
How do you explain
the pain of being
almost chosen?

Still,
I’m learning that
almost love
isn’t the same
as being loved.

And I deserve more
than the almosts.