Almost? Never.
Enough? That’s not the question.
Over? Not even close.
So what are we?
Not a memory that lingers.
Not a wound that stayed open.
Not a story waiting to be rewritten.
Not a dream that never came true.
We are something quieter than that.
Something that survived distance,
time,
silence,
and all the lives lived in between.
No promises.
No ownership.
No guarantees.
No map leading us anywhere.
Just two souls,
finding each other
again and again,
through different seasons,
under different skies,
as if recognition
had become a language of its own.
Some people arrive and leave.
Some people leave and disappear.
But some remain.
Not in the way the world expects.
Not as lovers.
Not as strangers.
Not as unfinished business.
Just as a constant.
A place you know exists,
even when you are far from it.
A hand you do not always hold,
but never truly lose.
A connection that asks for nothing,
yet keeps returning.
A thread stretched across years,
sometimes loose,
sometimes taut,
but never broken.
And maybe that is why
we never found the right name for it.
Because names belong to things
that can be easily explained.
And we were never one of them.
We were simply two hearts,
living separate lives,
sharing the same horizon,
and somehow,
after all this time,
still recognizing each other
when the rest of the world has changed.











