To the One Who Loved Me Almost

Not all heartbreak comes from what was, sometimes it comes from what could have been. To the One Who Loved Me Almost is a poem about emotional hesitation, missed moments, and the soft ache of being nearly chosen. For anyone who’s ever felt the weight of almost being loved, this poem offers both sorrow and strength, a gentle reminder that letting go of "almost" is sometimes the greatest act of self-love.

You almost called me yours,

on a night when the stars leaned in

and the air trembled with unsaid things.

I could hear your heartbeat

in the way you looked at me

like a promise still forming.

You almost said it,

those three small words

that hung between your lips

and my waiting.

But almost is a fragile thread,

and you let it snap

before it became a tether.

You held me like you meant it,

but kissed me like you feared

what would come next.

You loved me in fragments

on Tuesdays after too much wine,

in long silences shared on staircases,

in songs you said reminded you

of nothing in particular.

But I knew.

I always knew.

You loved me enough to stay close,

but not enough to stay.

You loved me in theory,

in shadows,

in the softness of maybe.

But not in the sunlight.

You whispered comfort,

but never commitment.

And I mistook your warmth

for a fire that would grow.

But it never did.

I waited for your hands

to reach with certainty.

They never did.

Because it teaches you

to question your worth,

In the silence between maybes.

Still, I do not hate you.

You taught me

what I will no longer accept.

You were the pause

before the full sentence,

the ache before the awakening.

And for that, I thank you.

Because I now know

what it feels like

to be loved almost

and how much more I deserve

than a love that hesitates.