An almost kind of love feels like window-shopping. You get just close enough to see all the great things the store has to offer, but for some reason you just can’t bring yourself to go inside.
An almost kind of love thinks of you occasionally. It doesn’t remember important dates like your birthday, but when loneliness creeps in, you’re the first one he messages.
An almost kind of love feels like being placed on a back-burner. You know when you are cooking and you get finished with the pans upfront, so you place them in the back until you need them again? Yeah, it’s hot and cold.
When you are a part of an almost kind of love, you get to hear things like how amazing you are, but watch other people get chosen over you. It’s like you are almost good enough to be with that person, but you can never quite make the cut.
An almost kind of love is inconsistent. There is very little stability to place any kind of footing on, and when you do, the rug is surely swept from under your feet. An almost kind of love can feel like San Francisco in 1989.
There are no promises in an almost kind of love. You get half-commitments and loose plans, but overall it is too fluid to be anything solid. You aren’t sure from one day to the next whether you’ll see that person again, and it feels like you are the only one carrying the weight.
An almost kind of love shows you only what he wants you to see. There is almost full transparency, but for some reason you can never see through it completely. It’s like looking through a foggy window and trying to understand the view.
When it’s an almost love, nothing ever really gets resolved. There is no talking things through because an almost kind of love doesn’t have the time for that or the space. An almost kind of love means you are not a priority.
An almost kind of love feels like winning a race only to find out you were actually the last one to the finish line. You think you are ahead of everyone, but really everyone else got there first. You feel like you almost won something, but in reality you are only the loser.
A love of the almost kind feels like warm fudge with no ice cream. It contains moments of what could be, it carries bits of sweetness with no outcome, and it stings in the places where you open up.
An almost love carries the threat of abandonment. You know that you are in this ship together, but you also know that the other person will flee as soon as possible. It keeps you from venturing out too far, and so you almost explore the possibilities ahead but never quite get there.
An almost love has an ending. It doesn’t really feel like an ellipses or a semicolon, but rather a lack of communication, and emojis replacing words. An almost love doesn’t share feelings or insights to enhance a relationship. It just lets what was end.
And you are left wondering if you were almost on to something or if that kind of love never counted anyway.