Maybe we met too late,
or maybe too early…
There’s also the unfortunate possibility
that it was never meant to be —
not before,
not after.
But what if today were the day I find you?
What if the rest of my life
were just a single step away from here?
I wish I could tell you I love you one more time.
I wish I could say your eyes
are the kind I’ll never forget.
I wish I could tell you how much your way of being enchants me…
how completely I got lost in your labyrinth.
I wish you knew
how much I always wanted to be your favorite boy —
the one you would choose to live in,
without fear,
without return.
I don’t know if there’s still time
to run to you
and fall to my knees.
As if time were kind,
as if it waited
for us to get it right.
But I know —
in your own vocabulary,
my actions would always feel like too much.
Maybe, in some second lost in the past,
you would have killed my poetry
for being too intense.
I arrived a second
before you were ready,
and I grew tired in the middle of a whole day
that made me give up waiting.
Now the echo of silence
is almost whole.
At least
it hurts completely.
Loving you was never our fault…
it wasn’t a mistake
nor a lack of feeling —
it was excess.
And the problem is
feeling is a drug…
and excess
never fits
into a single moment.
Sometimes I’m foolish enough
to think
about the versions of us
that arrived at the right time,
that said the right things,
that were where we never were —
in other days,
other clocks,
other lives,
where time
stops being a question.
I don’t know if I could handle
waiting one more second
for your indecision.
I don’t know if my poems would survive
your eyes meeting mine —
mine so belonging,
yours so distant.
I can stay one more day or two,
until tomorrow,
or next week.
Maybe I could die being yours…
without ever knowing.
We can say it’s too late —
or we can try
and hurt ourselves a little more.
Is the one who runs away a coward,
or is the one who abandons dreams
the truly brave one?
I don’t know…
Maybe it was never
a matter of time.
Sometimes…
it’s about to be or not to be,
to die
or to live,
to try
or not to try.
And for you,
I would try again,
and again,
and again —
forever,
beyond that,
beyond myself.
But I think…
it’s already
too little, too late.
