Almost Love You

I like you, more than I should probably admit, but not in the way people write songs about, not yet. It’s like I can see the outline of love, just not the color filled in. Like the bud of a flower that might never open because I’m too busy staring at it, waiting, scared to touch it. I tell myself, “I could love you.” And maybe that’s true. But maybe that’s just another way of saying “I’m afraid.” Afraid of what happens if I do. Afraid of what happens if I don’t. Afraid that this fragile maybe is safer than the heavy weight of yes. So I sit with it- this almost-love, this half-bloom, this ache that feels real enough to keep me up at night, but not strong enough to call love out loud. And maybe that's the truth- it isn't love at all, just the shadow of it. But shadows only exist because something's standing in the light. It may be the fear of a goodbye...