They almost loved me.

Almost called.

Almost made it through a second season.

They texted at midnight

and whispered my name like a secret—

but never said it in daylight.

They touched me like I was holy

and left like I was haunted.

They said things like:

“You feel like home.”

“You make me want to be better.”

And then they disappeared—

into silence, into someone else,

into the soft cowardice of men

who’ve never learned how to stay.

I was never not enough.