Between comfort and possibility. This poem weaves through the unspoken tension where emotions linger in the shadows of what could have been. It’s a story of timing, unspoken questions, and the ache of losing something that never quite began.
like old songs on quiet mornings,
his kindness a steady hum
in the chaos of life.
He showed up
not in grand gestures,
but in the everyday.
Soft words, thoughtful glances,
a comfort she didn’t know she needed.
She watched him
the way he listened,
the way he gave,
without asking for more.
And still,
her heart did not leap.
Not the way she always dreamed it would.
She wanted to love him.
God, she wanted to.
He was everything gentle,
everything warmth.
But he wasn’t her storm.
Not the thunder
that stirred her soul.
She tried.
Tried to see him through the eyes of forever.
Tried to picture
hands held at sixty,
arguments turned into apologies,
quiet dinners turned into rituals.
But love,
it never settled in.
And then he spoke.
Words she wasn’t ready to hear,
at a time she couldn’t pretend.
Like a sunrise
that came too soon.
She froze,
heart aching not for her,
but for his.
How do you tell someone
when they've only ever been kind?
She wished
he’d waited.
Wished she had more time
to feel something real,
to maybe grow into the love
he already lived in.
Now everything feels different.
Laughter tastes different.
The group feels uneven,
his eyes, a quiet echo
of what could have been.
She still wants to be near him,
but not at the cost of his hope.
She still wants to be friends,
but fears she's already a memory
he’ll have to forget
just to heal.
Sometimes,
love doesn’t come crashing.
Sometimes it doesn’t come at all.
And sometimes
the cruelest part
it arrives
for only one of you.
And yet,
a part of her wonders.
What if he stayed,
not to wait,
but to try?
To find her heart where it rests,
to speak not just softly,
but boldly
with purpose,
with truth,
with the fire
she didn’t know she needed?
she still reaches for his presence,
still craves the comfort of their shared spaces,
but mourns the quiet shift
between them.
slips in like a shadow, not a wave.
Sometimes it’s a question
unanswered.
A door left ajar.
A possibility
waiting for the right kind of knock.