There was a time when he was only a dream, an intution, built on faith, that somewhere, just somewhere, he must exist.
Then he walked back in, perfect, aloof as usual. That was when I fell. Again.
I remember I felt the rush of old emotions, driving back in to torment me. So I stood back and stopped right there.
I remember what it felt like, like being exhumed, and brought to life in a flash of brilliance.
Between the two of us, we kept running.
I used to think that the memories would fade, but each time he looked at me, it seemed as if they grew claws, making me bleed in places I never even knew existed.
His affection was like instant fame, leaving me feeling unsettled and dizzy at the same time. But instant fame comes crashing down in seconds, just like he would turn his back to me in a heartbeat, destroying anything I'd ever imagined.
I almost hated him back then.
Almost.
I was almost good for him.
He almost stopped me.
I almost waited.
We almost made it.
Almost.
That was what we were in the end, sand slipping through my fingers. An almost. A mere, insignificant almost.
