You called me special, just never yours. Your hand found mine, but always with space to pull away. You said you missed me, yet your feet never followed the feeling. You wanted me near, as long as near did not ask for commitment. As long as closeness stayed convenient. You loved me quietly. Soft enough to deny later. Too low for the world to hear. You kept me possible. I made you certain. I became almost everything you wanted, which somehow still meant not enough to choose. I was always close. Close enough to feel it. Never close enough to keep it. ~ still waiting...Thea Hart ~