Almost

Almost. It slips off the tongue like a sigh, a word so small it shouldn't hold so much weight. But it does. It sits heavy in my chest, a stone lodged in the place where dreams used to bloom.

I built my life on almosts, sturdy little houses made of "what ifs" and "maybes." Almost graduated top of my class, almost married the man who swore he'd love me forever, almost held a child in my arms. Each one a promise whispered on the wind, then snatched away like a cruel game.

And the worst part? The worst part is how they steal your future. You get so caught up in the almosts, the shimmering mirages of what could have been, that you forget how to live in the present. You become a ghost in your own life, watching as real happiness dances past, just out of reach.

Perhaps, almost is the saddest word there is.