To A Love That Never Happened

We were certain. Well, I was.

You were that little spark of light in a corner of a dark room I was longing to finally capture. You were that tiny string of hope that kept me from falling in a cliff. You were the harmony that made me take a step back when I nearly jumped from a 10-foot high building. You were the beautiful sound that kept me writing for the love I have always wished to have. And you are that love--the love that'll never happen.

Isn't it absurd? I have always written you poems, letters and even composed a few songs as if you were mine when in fact, "we" never really happened. I'm quite sure, we had something; the way you'd rest on my shoulders when there's a huge space for you to sleep in, the times you'd offer to take me home when I could take care of myself,  the moments you'd open up to me when in all reality, we just met. You'd often ask me if I was okay.  You'd make sure everything goes good for me, that I'm perfectly fine. We never said it but we felt it--that tingling feeling when our hands nearly touch, that warm haven when we walk together, and that little spark of infinity whenever we talk. We had something, and I know that you know that too, but that something never really bloomed.

We are the love that remained a dream. We are the love that was left unsaid. We are the love that never happened.