We Were Just Almost

There are stories that never start and still manage to end.
We were one of them.

We were never lovers, but everyone thought we were. The way we laughed too long at each other’s jokes, the way our eyes searched for each other in crowded rooms, the way silence felt safe when it was shared between us — it all looked like love.
And maybe it was. Just not the kind that survives the real world.

There was always a “maybe” hanging between us.
Maybe when the timing’s right.
Maybe when we’re both ready.
Maybe someday.

But “someday” never came.

You dated other people, I said yes to someone else, and life went on — like we were pretending the universe hadn’t already written our names next to each other in invisible ink.

You see, almost-loves are the hardest to forget.
They never break your heart loudly. They just leave pieces of “what if” scattered everywhere. You can’t even be angry, because no one actually left. You can’t move on, because technically, nothing ever happened.

I still remember the night we sat in your car, music low, rain on the windshield. You looked at me like you wanted to say something, and I looked back, praying you would.
You didn’t.
And I didn’t either.
That’s how we ended — in the silence of everything we couldn’t say.

Years later, I still think about that version of us — the one that lived in the space between friendship and forever. Sometimes, I imagine what would’ve happened if we’d just said what we felt. Maybe it would’ve ruined everything. Maybe it would’ve saved us.

But now I know — some loves aren’t meant to bloom. They’re meant to show us what love could feel like, so we recognize it when it finally arrives.

You taught me that love isn’t always about staying. Sometimes it’s about meeting someone who makes you believe again, even if they’re not the one who stays.

We were just almost.
And almost can hurt more than never.

But somewhere, I hope you remember the laughter, the rain, the car lights reflected in our eyes — and the quiet, endless possibility of us.