Almost But Never Enough

Am I waiting for you to choose me, or I just got used to the pain?

I stayed in the quiet spaces between your words-the pauses, the late replies, the maybes that sounded like hope. Every small moment felt like something, even when it was nothing. I learned you slowly, memorized the way you smiled, the things you loved, the way you never noticed her the same way. And still, I stayed.

Because loving you never felt wrong-just unfinished. Like a story that kept reaching the edge but never quite crossing it. I told myself that maybe one day, you'd see me. Maybe one day, I wouldn't be the second choice, the almost, the "not yet."

But how long can someone hold onto a love that only exists halfway?

And when the time comes-will I finally choose myself... or keep waiting for a love that was never meant to choose me back?