Quiet Hour

I knew from the start 
that this road bent the wrong way,
yet somehow fate kept placing you
right in front of me—
a temptation I wasn’t strong enough to resist.

I tried to tell myself
this was just fun,
something light,
something I could walk away from.
But who was I kidding?
I was drawn to you
in every way a person can be drawn—
mind, body, heart—
and pretending otherwise
never fooled me for long.

We slipped into something
we never named,
something stitched together
from stolen glances
and touches no one else saw,
a secret world
that felt more real to me
than the one we lived in.

I fell for you quietly,
then all at once.
And even when I told myself
not to hope,
I still wished
you’d turn toward me
and choose a different life—
one where I was the one
you were coming home to.

But she was always there,
a shadow I tried not to look at,
and now she’s moving closer,
into the space
I once pretended was mine.

You found a place,
and I lost the future
I never really had.

I knew this would end.
I knew it couldn’t last.
But knowing doesn’t soften the hurt
of watching you walk toward a life
I wanted to share with you.

Maybe it meant more to me
than it ever did to you—
I’ll never really know.
Still, I’m grateful
for every moment we stole,
every look,
every breath of almost.

So here’s my goodbye—
the one I never wanted to say.
I hope your life ahead is full,
and bright,
and everything you’re reaching for.

And I’ll carry what we were
quietly,
like a small, warm ache
that reminds me
I once felt something real.