Almost.

Uncertainty hurts; continuously swaying in a crowd of probabilities is one of the most searing pains – a pain that is probably as unpleasant as that of monotony. And life is, after all, nothing but an odd cocktail of chaos and consistency. 

The only flagrantly constant probability in my existence is me being so close to the peak of euphoria but never stepping into it. It’s like there is a gravitational pull that tells me to watch but never dare to approach, as if whatever my soul desires is carefully kept in a sophisticated museum. The bitter thrill of almost being loved. Almost being cherished. Almost being someone’s dearest human being. Almost being special. Almost –a word that keeps piercing my heart over and over. 

Dancing solo on the edge of so many probabilities and what-ifs. Underneath, I could see the moonlight reflecting upon an overflowing sea of bottled tears and confused emotions and myriad question marks. 

And I never stop wondering: could I’ve held on tighter to these fleeting daydreams? Could I’ve treasured them? 

Perhaps it’s me who couldn’t cherish things, after all. I couldn’t even cherish myself. 

My heart longs so hard for something that isn’t ephemeral… to step back away from the edge into a warm home somewhere. 

My heart longs to never feel the heaviness of almost again.