I’m sorry, stillborn encounter.
You existed and then were dead
(at least in my head).
Hesitation’s often deadly:
oh, how I wish we’d met.

But it was too late.
Call it whatever you want, I
don’t believe in fate.
All I got was this nickel for a keepsake
and now I must live with it,
all of the future me
who’ll never be.

See?
That’s what keeps me up at night
when I cannot sleep.
Wondering why we wouldn’t meet,
questioning the path I chose.
But hey, that’s Life.
Anything goes.