Mar 22 • Share your Poems
Almost, Still
Something in me
never left that moment.
It stands there,
half-turned
like a door that didn’t close all the way
and everything after
just keeps brushing past it.
I keep reaching
but not forward.
More like
into something already disturbed
like water that hasn’t settled
since you moved through it.
There’s a shape of you
that won’t disappear.
Not solid,
not gone,
just...
impossible to hold.
I try anyway.
My hands come back
full of nothing
and the faintest trace
of what used to be warm.
Even silence
sounds different now
like it’s carrying
something unfinished,
like it’s waiting
for a word
that already missed its moment.
I think I live there now,
in the space right after
where everything almost happened
and never will.
Where time keeps circling
but never lands
and you...
you exist like a second too late
no matter how many times
I replay it.
No matter how carefully
I stand still.
As if stillness
could undo it.
As if staying
could bring something back
that never chose
to remain.
But nothing rewinds.
Not the way you turned,
not the space you left,
not the version of me,
that almost reached you.
It all keeps moving,
except this.
This stays...
like a breath I never finished,
like a step I never took,
like I’m still standing there,
while the moment
keeps living on
without me.
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Almost, Still
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