Whispers of the Almost

There comes a point in life when you stop running forward and, for a heartbeat, turn around.
You wonder how you’ve been living, if the path you chose was truly yours, or just one that felt safe enough to walk barefoot.

You look at the person beside you ,almost right.
Ninety percent of what you ever wanted, maybe even more.
But the missing piece… oh, that tiny, sharp fragment of something else, it doesn’t fade. It hunts you down.
It hides in your chest like a whisper you can’t silence.

Sometimes it calls in the night, like a stray dog scratching at your door.
You try to sleep, but you can feel its breath on your neck asking, is this it?

And then, one day, you meet her.
Not perfect. Not meant to stay. But she burns with the thing you thought you had buried.
When you touch her, you stop existing.
No words, no thought only that silent storm where skin becomes confession.
You make love as if the world ends with every breath.
You fall through dimensions not up or down, but somewhere between being and forgetting.

Afterward, silence.
The whisper is gone but so are you.