We stood inside a thinning space, Where silence nearly had a face. Every word we almost said Hovered softly overhead. The air was close to breaking through, Close enough to almost true. Something forming in between, Too defined to be unseen. The distance narrowed year by year, Until it almost disappeared. Closer than touch, Farther than contact. Nearer than knowing What we lack. The gap grew small, But never gone. We leaned into What wasn’t drawn. Almost here. Almost there. Almost something In the air. We traced the outline of a change, Felt it shift but never rearrange. Like standing at the edge of sound, Where something’s lost but not yet found. A future brushing past our skin, A door left open, none walked in. But every step that brought it close Revealed a line no one could cross. It wasn’t distance. It was design. Not resistance. Just a line. Closer than touch, Farther than fact. Nearer than memory Looking back. The years ran thin, The line still here. We lived inside The almost year. So close… It felt complete.
