to the almosts,

to the almosts,

There are some stories that live in the almosts. Timing that was slightly off, words that sat on the tip of our tongue for a second too long, moments that felt like they were leading somewhere until they didn’t. Stories you replay over and over in your head just to see how they might have unfolded if one thing had gone differently.

It’s as if the universe looks at you when you think you have something all figured out and whispers, not this time. You sit there wondering how you could’ve been wrong. What you could’ve done or not done, said or not said, just to maybe change the outcome. I wonder at times, do we really have control? Or does fate always have the upper hand?

I think that our almosts show us that not everything that is meant to be felt is meant to stay. But everything we feel shows us so much beauty. The beauty of connection with the hundreds of faces we cross paths with. Some last just a moment, some that stay for years,  and the rare few that find a way to last forever.

But maybe the almosts aren’t mistakes. Maybe we don’t need to be so angry with the almosts, because they are guiding us towards the things that are truly meant for us in life. The people, the places, the paths. Every small and fleeting moment we’re meant to experience. And we’re meant to experience them too.

Maybe the almosts give us some of the sweetest times life has to offer. Some of the best nights singing, dancing, and laughing until we cry. Some of the most necessary lessons we wouldn’t have learned any other way. Some of the warmest hands to hold and wipe our tears when everything feels unreal. The best drives, the best trips, the best meals, and the best sleeps. Moments that will stay with you even when the person they belonged to does not.

The almosts can feel haunting, but in a way, they’re beautiful too. Is there beauty in the world denying you what thought you were looking for, only to quietly promise you’ll find it again someday? Is an almost always a no, or does it sometimes surprise us as a not yet, by later returning? Are our almosts some of the best parts of us?

What if the golden hours are in the not yets, the maybe next times, and the see you laters? In the not right now’s, and the one days.

What if some of the what ifs are the golden hours themselves because they keep us dreaming, wondering, and envisioning how sweet things can be when they do work out?

They keep us longing and yearning for the deepest desires of our heart, reminding us that there is so much love, in so many places, that we haven’t even found yet.

Maybe the golden hours were never only the moments that stayed, but the ones that almost did too.