Almost... but not quite

You were almost. Just so close to almost. And I was willing to wait, despite my many denials that I would. But you were so close…

And we were so close. Your hand on my face, your arms around me, the way you looked at me that one long night. So close. So very close.

And I was willing to wait to see how close we’d get, to see if we could get past so close and just be whatever comes after that.

Because you’d look at me that way, your eyes so full of your heart. And my heart would look back out my eyes at yours and we’d be thisclose. So close.

And I thought we’d get there. I really, truly did. Despite the red flags, despite the wondering and the waiting and the what the fuck. But we were so close.

Your heart pounding as you held me. The touch of your hand. All those little silly, ridiculous, wonderful things you said, did, showed me.

And I thought you were almost. Just so close to almost.

But you’re not.

Because you showed me that we’re not almost. We’re not so thisclose. You showed me by omission that I’m not in your heart or your mind. You showed me that I’m chicken soup for your soul - there when you need me but otherwise, out of sight, out of mind. Not almost. Not even close. Nothing.

It was a simple thing that a single call, a single text, a single email could have shown me that I was almost.

But I guess I don’t get to be that for you. And you no longer get to be that for me.

And I almost forgave you. Because that’s what I was taught to do. I was taught by years of abuse to be passive, to take what I’m given and make that almost. To be willing to be invisible, to be willing to be unimportant, and to say, thank you, sir, may I have some more?

And I went there. I forgave and was ready to hand my heart back to you and say, please sir, may I have some more? Because you’re almost…

Until I got my shins kicked soundly by those who see me and love me and know me. They made me see how not almost you are now. And how almost will never happen because you don’t choose to have it.

And you probably won’t even notice that almost is gone. Because I’ll still be there on the periphery. I’ll still see you and I’ll still talk to you and we’ll still be friends… almost.

But the almost will be gone. And the special connection that we had will be gone. Because I choose it. Because I don’t want any more, thank you, sir.

Because I deserve more than almost. I deserve someone who will make that call when it should be made. I deserve to have someone who doesn’t see me as chicken soup but sees me as something beautiful and delicious and wondrous to be savored and cultivated and cradled as often as possible.

And I’m so sorry you weren’t that. Because you were almost…

But I have to let go of almost and of you because I deserve more than.

And it hurts like a motherfucker.