The Things That Could Never Be

I could have loved you.

With my bumbling affection, I could have been in love with you. I could have doted over your pride, your temper, your impatience. I could have swam in your fickleness and drowned myself in them. I could have basked in your rays of sunshine and in your heartbreaking sunsets. I could have given up my comfort of pessimism for your bright, frightening plans. I could have been a playwright with you. I could have taken your heart away.

I pictured us together. We could have been throwing bricks at each other because of my sarcasm and sharp tongue, and your games and moodiness. We could have clashed with our mutual need of being the one to be pleased and pursued. We could have easily raised the white flag as for our similar lack of forbearance. We could have endured a lengthy and shivery war of hearts. We could have been two miserable shadows in the night.

You could have been my amnesia. I could have been your escape. You could have been the calmness of my throbbing soul. I could have been your passionate destination. You could have been the risk I avoid to take. I could have been the dosage of commitment you try to flee from. We could have tangoed on the sidewalks of fate. We could have drank the ecstatic spirit of romance. We could have motorcycled through the wind of uncertainties.

You could have chosen to venture into my reality. And I could have decided to hold your hand.