There Was No Version of This

I have seen roads Before I walked them. Watched endings gather Behind unopened doors. I thought that meant Surprises had become A luxury for other people. Then there was you. You were a name beside a purpose, Another life I had to keep Within the boundaries of duty, Far enough that I could sleep. A necessary complication, A piece the larger pattern missed, Something easily accounted for— There was no version of this. I checked the cause. I traced the line. I followed every consequence. Nothing explains When your survival Started feeling personal. There was no version of this, No path where you stayed, No future where your absence Was something I would hate. No warning in the margins, No calculation missed. I knew a thousand ways this could end— There was no version of this. I told myself it was proximity, Habit dressed as something more. Too many nights beside the same fire, Too many battles, nothing more. So distance should have solved it. It didn’t. Danger should have made it clear. Instead I learned the inconvenient truth: I notice when you’re not here. I checked again. As though repetition Could make the answer change. It didn’t. You remained impossible. And somehow... So did I. There was no version of this, No road I could retrace, No future where I learned The silence left behind your place. No prophecy went missing, No hidden page dismissed. I knew exactly who I was— There was no version of this. I thought perhaps the fault was yours. You were the variable. The unforeseen condition Making everything unstable. But you have only ever been Exactly what you are. You did not move the calculation. I did. That is... less convenient. Because if the future did not lie, If every page was true, If nothing changed except the choices I began to make for you— Then somewhere in the man I knew, Behind the certainty I built, There was a door I never noticed. And somehow... You walked through it. Not by force. Not by design. Not because some god decided Your life should matter more than mine. No command. No grand intention. Nothing fate could take the credit for. Just one impossible connection That I cannot explain anymore. There was no version of this. No version of me Who would have let another person Become something he could need. No version that would hesitate When walking away was wise. No version that would search a room Just to know you were alive. There was no version of this. And still— Here it is. No prophecy. No purpose. No answer I have missed. So either every future lied... Or I never knew myself At all. And that should frighten me. Perhaps it does. But if I had the choice To put the pieces back Exactly where they were— I don't think I would. There was no version of this. Until there was.