If only things were different,
maybe my hands would not feel so empty.
Maybe the silence would not echo
with every word I failed to say.
If only I had learned sooner
that love is fragile in human hands,
that hearts can slip through fingers
even while you swear you’re holding on.
If only I had known
how tightly to keep you close,
how to fight harder against distance,
against pride, against time itself.
If only you were the one thing
this world had not taken from me.
The one memory untouched by regret.
The one name that did not ache to speak.
If only clocks had mercy.
If only they spun backward
instead of dragging me farther
from what we used to be.
Then maybe words would remain unspoken,
sharp edges never leaving our mouths.
Maybe pain would stay unborn,
sleeping quietly beneath our ribs.
But life does not bargain
with longing or grief.
It simply moves forward
while I remain trapped
between memory and wishing.
If only.