We start with a crush.
You; that sweet combed-back hair, glistening eyes, gentle fingers and that favourite sheepish smile.
I saw you across the room and I knew you’d make a good reason to miss. We clicked immediately, my heart strung in melodies and grew a vine for you. The greatest knot must have been the time we spoke of favourites.
And you’d recommend to me,
And I’d watch because I want to know what did you like.
Most of all, I enjoy how you smiled when you talked to me.
We are helplessly comfortable with each other.
Despite rumours, it does not hinder the care we share.
A box of chocolate, tiny gestures of cares.
And all the other times, a care of touch.
The warmth of your skin.
There are lots of thank you’s ending with hearts.
And then there is a “Miss You!”
There will be stories we both shared, secrets we both kept.
We can never share to anyone else in the world. It would be wrong in the context, despite how much the heart felt right. Some reasons, we enjoyed that moments.
We are like all our almost, became tangible. We are the almost; and the could haves.
The jar of missed opportunities.
No matter how much good there could be, how much I would hate this, but we have to go. We couldn’t move forward from where we are, yet we wouldn’t be any lesser.
We are a different kind of intimate.
I miss you occasionally. Mostly what it felt.
I watch you grew from the distance, as my vine grows away.
I watch you be loved and I am happy because they saw you the way I did.
You are gentle and kind. You, my love, could touch the whole world with it.