Echoes of Almost

There are nights when saudade holds my heart softly,
and it’s the only time I feel at home, mostly,
reminding me of all the almosts that became nothing but memories.
Maybe they were right about the theories
the ones that whisper that longing isn’t weakness, just proof that something once mattered.

Maybe it happened to keep your heart sheltered,
from silhouettes that lingered,
from questions that stayed unanswered.

There are fragments and echoes I still don’t understand,
and the universe keeps its silence
as if timing has a language
and I was never fluent in patience.

Maybe healing isn’t loud,
maybe it’s just gentle alignment
one breath, one memory, one forgiven ache
at a time.

Echoes that once felt like home,
now feel empty, just a fragile dome.
I still think of those halcyon days,
where laughter bloomed in effortless ways.