We live our lives in almosts.

An almost kiss. An almost love. An almost sent text. Our lives begin to look like endless spools of drafts, of almost dreams and almost truths.

At the edge of our lips lies an apology, ceaselessly waiting for the day we decide to utter it. In our minds lie the memory of the love that never was; of an intimacy which was never verbalised. Within the lines of our palms lie the promises we traced once, then carefully stowed away.

Perhaps the real tragedy of these almosts is the fact that they persist with time, letting the devastating question of “what if?” wander into our minds and taint every thought.

Anticipatory regret is heavier than remorse because an almost never dissolves.

We call it caution, or poor timing, or even fate – but what’s truly stopping us from fulfilling these almosts is fear.

Strange, isn’t it? We are great at survival. We are terrible at living.

Yours truly,
Divi