Quite often I do find
the little girl next door with the not so little boy from across town
He holds her without any holy room
She compares their closeness to what she’s explained to me as an “almost”
An almost, the girl says, is the most painful part of being alive
You wait around waiting
waiting for some piece of life to shutter by
She said
waiting provokes waiting
hand constantly holding your head
At her explanation
I called my husband, my dear
the man i had been given to, the man who does not hold me near
He explained exclaimed she was silly, too young to understand
that fate is not determined, fate had been written before and by her old man
She seemed to scoot away at this
her sour, puckered face
as i stumbled to the door
she reached out
hands close to my waist
agasp i yell
agasp he scream
agasp the girl
what was her reason to touch me
what are her means
this time she stumbled
this time she cracked
this time she said
almost is something you can never take back
leaving the yard
her shoes in hand and petunia seeds put to rest
the little girl from next door hugs him tightly once more
i recall this duller feeling
like falling while staying still
almost wanted by this man
almost wrapped into a swoon
almost heard forever
almost fell for you
YOU ARE READING
Kairos
Historia CortaIn every perfect moment I settle for either loving or loathing.