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.