It’s very nearly like hate, that feeling of…almost.
A faint whiff of coffee as you open the door.
Not yet having taken a sip and knowing it won’t be worth it. Almost.
It curls in your tummy, a bee in a jar, a brief introduction
To a character you’ve barely met, dreading the moment you
Turn the first page and get your heart broken; almost.
That moment of vulnerability, lying in wait, poised to take,
Feeling as if either your own trembling or his welcomed advance
Will shatter you. Almost.
I understand them, adrenaline junkies, almost.
The humming beneath my skin that lets me know
That almost it will be mine. Almost it will be over.