Things I can't Lose

A raw and bitter, this unravels the ache of an almost-love, haunted by missed moments and unspoken words, in the absence left behind by someone who was never fully there

I can’t lose you if I never had you.
You can’t break a promise you never bothered to make, all those half-truths and maybe-next-times you dangled in front of me, like bait for a fool.
I can’t miss a home that was never mine, just a space I filled while you were busy with something, or someone, more important. I waited at the door, but you never let me in.

I can’t heal from a wound you never cared to leave, just the ghost of it, lingering beneath my skin. No scars, no bleeding, just this gnawing emptiness that doesn’t know what to do with itself.
I can’t forget a touch that was never real�"fingers that brushed by, never stayed, eyes that glanced but never truly saw me. You kept your distance even when you were close.
I can’t get mad about the nights you didn’t call, but I do anyway. Each silent hour echoed louder than any goodbye you never gave me.
I can’t be sad over the future we never planned�"because there never was one, was there? You sidestepped it every time I brought it up, like my hopes were some wild fantasy you couldn’t be bothered to entertain.
I can’t mourn a dream you never let grow, a dream you starved with your indifference, like watering it was too much effort.
I can’t forgive the lies you never had to tell. You didn’t need to. Your silence said more than any words could.
I can’t lose the moments we never had�"like holding hands in the street, or dancing in the kitchen, or even just sitting in the quiet without wondering when you’d leave.
I can’t lose the comfort of being seen, because you never looked long enough to notice who I really was.
I can’t lose the love you never gave, the love I thought you were capable of, but now I see�"clear as day�"you never intended to give it at all.
I can’t lose you if I never had you.
And I never had you. And I think, deep down, I always knew.