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The one that could’ve been. Asleep in the corner of my mind- rest the dreamed memories, That felt like I only, read the scripts. Maybe it didn’t help that I run away from everything that resembles you, But what if I was waiting for the original- not a copy? Because you’ll always be the one that could’ve been. How is it that you saw something in everyone but me, How is it that the blood rushed to my cheeks- every time you let your thoughts leak? Because you’ll always be the one that could’ve been- and should’ve been- and would’ve been, If you looked over at me, And felt an ounce of pity. If you did, you should’ve picked me up, Like you did that October night- All dressed up in suits and ties. Life goes on, so the book is over, But I cannot seem to stop rewriting- Because not all good books have a happy ending. But li’l make copies- Different endings- Different friends- A different guy. Just so I can close the books of unsaid poems, Pages weary and shedding. Because, it should’ve been, Would’ve been, And could’ve been- If you were who you pretend to be.
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Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 8:33 AM UTC
The One That Could've Been
The one that could’ve been. Asleep in the corner of my mind- rest the dreamed memories, That felt like I only, read the scripts. Maybe it didn’t help that I run away from everything that resembles you, But what if I was waiting for the original- not a copy? Because you’ll always be the one that could’ve been. How is it that you saw something in everyone but me, How is it that the blood rushed to my cheeks- every time you let your thoughts leak? Because you’ll always be the one that could’ve been- and should’ve been- and would’ve been, If you looked over at me, And felt an ounce of pity. If you did, you should’ve picked me up, Like you did that October night- All dressed up in suits and ties. Life goes on, so the book is over, But I cannot seem to stop rewriting- Because not all good books have a happy ending. But li’l make copies- Different endings- Different friends- A different guy. Just so I can close the books of unsaid poems, Pages weary and shedding. Because, it should’ve been, Would’ve been, And could’ve been- If you were who you pretend to be.
InSearchForWords
Written by
18/F/Marseille, France
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 8:33 AM UTC
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