I was almost complete.
Time and time again, I watched you slip away from me in plain view, and I; I was just a bystander.
I couldn't be your conscience.
I didn't know your thoughts.
I didn't know how to do anything but sit back and watch.
and for every single harsh gasp that filled my lungs with burning desperation, I released two roars of agony.
But these roars of agony were only heard by me. Whispers of disbelief is what they they really were;
I couldn't catch my breath to let out a scream even if I had all the strength I had before we met.
And if I'm going to spit out every ounce of truth that I hid among your lies as if my honesty could rub off on you.
I would pull it out to say that I had everything with you, and I was complete.
But the sickening part of honesty is telling the other half, the broken shard of a story scribbled in dripping blood and washed in tears, the realization that although I had everything with you, I never did have you. I thought I did. I thought that I would be complete.
And I was so close, only held back by your mistakes.
When you told me you loved her instead, I knew that I had missed out on more than almost being complete, more than almost being happy.
I lost my chance; and I was, almost, loved.
and now the word "almost" carries a taste in my mouth that's nearly as bitter as my feelings
and I think about how close I've come to everything I've ever wanted; how close I came to you.
and although the word "almost" will never stop ringing in my cluttered mind, it's nothing compared to the sound of your voice when you said you loved me.
or when you just thought you did.