Easter is coming.
And somehow…
it feels like we almost became something.
Not in a vague way.
Not in imagination.
Almost real.
Because just days ago…
we were not strangers.
We were planning.
Canada to London.
Maldives to London.
Then somewhere warm…
somewhere quiet…
somewhere we wouldn’t have to guess each other anymore.
I asked you how many days.
More like I was already there.
That’s how real it felt.
And then…
one moment.
Just one.
One line said wrong.
One thought said too directly.
And suddenly…
we were no longer moving forward.
We were explaining.
Defending.
Trying to fix something
that had already shifted.
You said I hurt you.
And that line…
didn’t pass.
It stayed.
Because I didn’t mean to hurt you.
But I did.
And the worst part is…
I know exactly when it happened.
Not when I spoke.
But when I didn’t soften what I said.
Because you trusted me
with something fragile.
And I answered it
like it was just information.
That’s where I failed you.
And still…
that’s not what stays the most.
What stays is this:
You said
I set it up perfectly for a yes.
Do you understand
what that does to a person?
Because all this time
I thought I was the one reaching.
And suddenly…
you tell me
you were closer than I realised.
The moment was there.
Right there.
And I didn’t take it.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because I didn’t want it
to be just another message.
Because something like that…
you don’t type it.
You say it properly.
You mean it properly.
You stand in front of someone
when you say it.
But maybe…
life doesn’t wait for perfect delivery.
Maybe moments come once…
and if you don’t step into them…
they move.
And now we’re here.
Not fighting.
Not connected.
Just…
aware.
Aware of what almost happened.
Aware of what was felt.
Aware of what slipped
between two people
who were actually getting close.
And that kind of awareness…
is heavier than silence.
Because silence is empty.
This isn’t.
This is full of almost.
And you said
I hit you where it hurts.
That line didn’t leave me either.
Because I know
you don’t speak like that
unless something real was touched.
And I hate that
I became that moment for you.
Even if it was just once.
Because you were never
someone I spoke to lightly.
You were never
just another conversation.
You were someone
who made everything feel…
more precise.
More real.
And now…
it’s quiet again.
But not the same quiet.
This one has memory in it.
This one has unfinished sentences in it.
This one has
a version of us
that almost existed.
And with Easter coming…
a time people talk about new life,
new beginnings…
I’m left with something different.
Not a beginning.
Not an ending.
Just…
an almost.
And maybe that’s harder.
Because you can’t move on from an almost
the same way you move on from a no.
A no closes things.
An almost…
stays open.
So I don’t try to fix it now.
I don’t try to push it forward.
Because maybe
not everything needs to be forced
into an answer.
Some things…
you just feel.
And leave.
But if,
in the middle of your day,
in between everything else…
you remember
those plans,
those conversations,
that moment where everything
was just about to change…
just know this:
I remember it too.
Not vaguely.
Not emotionally.
Clearly.
And I know exactly
how close it was.
