Confession: I'm Addicted to the Almost

We chase the ache of what almost happened—
because closure would kill the fantasy.

I'm addicted to the almost.
The almost-kiss,
the almost-love,
the almost-forever.

I'm addicted to the possibility,
the what-if,
the could-have-been.

Because almost is perfect.
Almost is safe.
Almost is forever.

Almost never ends,
because it never began.
Almost never disappoints,
because it never happened.
Almost never hurts,
because it was never real.

I'm addicted to the almost
because closure would kill the fantasy,
and I need the fantasy
to survive the reality.

I need the almost-kiss
more than I need the real one,
because the almost-kiss is perfect,
and the real one might disappoint.

I need the almost-love
more than I need the real thing,
because almost-love is safe,
and real love is dangerous.

I need the almost-forever
more than I need closure,
because almost-forever is forever,
and closure is just the end.

So I chase the almost,
I crave the almost,
I live for the almost.

I'm addicted to the ache
of what almost happened,
because that ache is better
than the pain of what actually did.

I'm addicted to the almost
because it's the only thing
that never ends,
that never disappoints,
that never hurts.

Almost is my drug,
and I'm hooked.
I can't quit,
because quitting would mean closure,
and closure would kill the fantasy.

So here's my confession:
I'm addicted to the almost,
and I don't want to recover,
because recovery would mean
letting go of the fantasy,
and I need the fantasy
to survive the reality.

I'm addicted to the almost,
and I'll stay addicted forever,
because the almost is the only thing
that never lets me down.