This has been in my mind for quite some time. I've already said too much yet there's still more to say. Words don't come easy to me now—it's like waiting for stars to appear during daylight or waiting for snow in the middle of spring.
We have come at an equilibrium, a neutral state where our hearts have chosen what happens to us—now and in the distant future. And should a star appear at daylight or a snowflake fall from the summer sky, we might have a chance at being together.
But then again, we are both ends of equinox, points at both ends of a line, and the distance where the sun rises and the sun sets. We are what defines the word, Almost, and what proves the word, Impossible. We are the white feather of a raven, the corner of a circle.
We are what could never be. But I'm reminded—people never thought a man could step on the moon or water could be found in Mars—which leads me into thinking: could an impossible be probable?
I'll leave the answer to you, to the guy who reads this unwritten message, to the guy who almost loved me, but I was just never enough for him.
YOU ARE READING
Written Constellations
PoetryA constellation of prose, poetry, and verses spun together for a galaxy of love, life, heartache, and hope.
