It’s strange—how close I come to it. Like the feeling lingers just behind my ribs, not quite taking root, but heavy all the same. I almost love the way you hold me in a crowded room, your hand firm around mine like you’re afraid of the tide of people sweeping me away. There’s something in the way your grip tightens, in that flicker of panic in your eyes when I drift too far from reach. It makes me feel like I matter—like I am something rare, precious even. And maybe that’s what frightens me most. Because I almost believe you see me that way.
I almost love the way you say my name. Especially when I’m lost in thought again, somewhere far away where the world feels too heavy. The sound of your voice—gentle, grounding—pulls me back as if I were never meant to leave. It feels like an angel whispering me back to life. It’s not loud, not demanding. Just… soft. Soft like the breeze that slips in through an open window on a morning the world hasn’t yet decided to be cruel.
I almost love how you remember the little things. The inconsequential details that most people miss. Like how my mind drifts when I’m overwhelmed, or how my mood sours without my usual cup of coffee, throwing childish tantrums over things that barely matter. You remember these things not to use them against me, but to care for me better. You never mock it, never sigh in frustration. You remember, and in the remembering, you show me I’m seen. You just… see me. In all my messiness. And somehow that gaze is warm.
I think about that sometimes. About the way you watch me without judgment. The way you listen to me ramble about nothing. The way you make space for my silences. It’s the kind of noticing that feels rare. It feels deliberate. It feels safe.
But what if I loved you? What if I let myself love your ways? What if I allowed myself to jump in?
What if I stopped hovering on the edge of feeling and simply fell? If I silenced that voice in my head that insists almost is safer? What would it mean to give in fully—to hand you not the polished, acceptable parts of me but everything? My rawness. My fears. The parts that don’t make sense even to me.
Sometimes I imagine it. I imagine surrendering. Telling you all the thoughts I swallow down. Letting my guard drop completely. Leaning into you in every way. I wonder how it would feel to be entirely vulnerable with you, to collapse into your arms without hesitation, without rehearsing what’s safe to say.
Would you catch me? Or would the act of falling break me?
It’s all so close—so dangerously close to love. But something holds me back, stubborn and cautious. Like standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind roaring at my back, begging me to jump. And yet… my feet stay rooted. My heart resists the fall.
Because I almost love you. And sometimes, almost feels safer than all the way.
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