An open letter to all my “almosts”
It was one close call. Or perhaps, it was a trillion things. It seems like too many reasons, but it was also for the lack of it. It was like it was meant to be, but in reverse. If I were to open up my inner self for visitation, it would be like a safari tour: “This one to your right is 1.9m tall, funny, handsome, but he talks ‘zap zap.’ If we walk a bit further, we can see behind the hill, this somewhat wild man who used to bring me breakfast in bed, said he loved me, and even put a ring on my finger. Ah, there’s Igor. I think that was his name. We had one date, and I even thought he could be the father of my daughters, whom I’m not sure I want to have. But there wasn’t a significant moment with that man that made me want to relive the night. THERE! There he is, behind this pile of things I’ve put in front: The king of the jungle. Observe from afar. Be cautious. Read the sign: — “Do not disturb those who are at peace. Let’s keep a safe distance, please.”
The fact is that, the older I get, the fewer certainties I collect, and the more “almost” are displayed in the showcase of my achievements. The so-called “forever” showing up in memories, not people. Some of them are in the lyrics of a samba song. Others, in a scent that sometimes passes by. The right side of the bed. A feeling that never heals. But they are all “almost”, remembered sporadically, just like a random song on Spotify. Incomplete loves that rebuilt me, halves that never filled me. A subtraction that divided me. What could have been. But wasn’t. For some of them, I just barely didn’t fall in love. For others, it was for a trillion reasons.
The “almosts” always come with reasons.
But I await certainty,
which comes with reason.
