The Tree of What-ifs

Sometimes, we cross paths with someone, yet the timing, the circumstances, or the unknown keep us from staying. This is a letter to anyone and everyone who never lingered long enough to feel the weight of what we almost had.

There are moments I wish I could return to—

not to change the ending,

but just to hold your gaze a little longer.

To see if you felt it too.

That flicker.

That quiet knowing.

I opened my heart to you,

slowly, then all at once.

And for a moment,

I believed we were stepping into something rare.

You said you’d call.

Said you wouldn’t go anywhere.

But not everything begins,

and not everything ends with closure.

People disappear.

Messages go unread.

And even love,

sometimes, slips away.

But you meant something to me.

You rearranged me, just by being you.

Maybe I wasn’t ready.

Maybe you weren’t.

But I was open.

And that has to count for something.

I’m learning to sit with myself

in the silence you left behind.

Still, the heart aches.

Still, I wish we had another chance—

not to rewrite the past,

but to meet again, softer.

If I ever see you again,

I might only say:

I want you to be happy.

And I hope when you find someone

who makes you smile,

you won’t let go.

It wasn’t the idea of you.

It was you.

The way you saw me

without asking me to explain myself.

You said you’d move for love.

I would’ve stayed for you.

Not to fix me,

but because you made me feel

something tender.

Something true.

I know you’re not mine.

Maybe you never were.

But what I felt was real.

There’s a tree in the garden

with a thousand branches,

a thousand lives we could’ve lived.

In one of them,

we made it.

We danced,

even when the music stopped.

But this is not that branch.

This is an unfinished chapter,

an unsent letter,

a heartbeat never heard.

We were never ours—

but in my heart of hearts,

I wish it were you.