Forever in Almost

I read a poem applauding your second love
for teaching you that love still exists
after being broken, but what if your second love
is the same as your first, but not the same at all?

The same arms hold me, but they feel new.
Like when the bus is pulling away but stops
to let you on or when the light turns yellow
with just enough time for you to slip through
or when you catch the door before it closes
or when you drop something  
and catch it in time.

We lost each other like missed exits that keep driving
but found ourselves and now we know all
we have to lose. Dancing with the words we
only danced around before like a spinning top,
one wrong breath could end it.
How can something so fragile not be beautiful?

To have the person who broke you be the person
to reintroduce you to 3am’s,
drives with no destination,
street hugs covered in darkness,
and brown eyes being beautiful.

But he didn’t break me. I broke
by telling myself I loved him when really,
he was the first person I wanted
to love and be loved back by
but I’ve learned that’s not always how it works.
Sometimes you miss each other
like points plotted on the same grid
but not the same spot or parallel lines
that just run side-by-side.

Because, sometimes the bus leaves,
the light turns red,
the door closes,
and you can’t
catch it in time.
Almost there,
but never doing
what it takes
to be there.

So we’ll live together forever
in what we have built and left,
in what could have been,
in what almost was,
and what a beautiful
thing that is.