The Man I Almost Was

[Verse 1 — deep male baritone; steady acoustic guitar with subtle bass] At twenty-two I had a list Of all the things I wouldn't miss: A little land, a decent wife, Two kids asleep by ten at night. I'd write some songs, I'd build a shop, I'd buy that Ford my father lost. I'd call my brother every week, Quit drinking hard before thirty-three. At thirty-five the list still lived Inside a drawer with unpaid bills. The land became another lease, The drinking never really ceased. My brother called until he learned A ringing phone gets seldom returned. The woman left before the kids. Can't blame her much. I know what I did. [Verse 2 — percussion enters; cadence gradually tightens] At forty-one I changed careers, Lasted there about two years. Had one good boss who gave me room; I thanked him by not coming through. I borrowed money from a friend, Swore I'd repay him by month's end. Three Christmas cards came to my door. The fourth December brought no more. I've started books, I've started bands, I've drawn whole houses in the sand. Bought tools for things I'd never make, Made promises I couldn't fake. That's almost worse—I meant them all. I wasn't lying when I'd call And say, "This time I'll see it through." I meant it. Then I didn't do it. [Bridge — arrives unusually early; drums disappear, mandolin enters] There's comfort saying, "Someday soon," When someday still has breathing room. But calendars don't give a damn About the man you nearly am. The years don't stop to let you choose. Potential's something you can lose. And every road you never crossed Eventually becomes a cost. [Instrumental — aggressive acoustic-djent figure; bass doubles the low guitar] [Verse 3 — short, rough vocal] I'm fifty now. The list survives. Folded twice in that same drawer. Some things aren't possible anymore. Dad's old Ford became scrap steel. My brother moved to Bakersfield. The woman married someone kind. Those children would've been about nine. [Chorus — appears for the first and only time; broad clean melody] I know the man I almost was. I've met him every night because He wears my face without the years, Without the debts, without the fear. He made the calls I let go cold. He kept his word before it got old. He finished what I left undone. He stayed when I learned how to run. And nothing hurts like knowing he Was never stolen away from me. No cruel hand, no crooked cause— I killed the man I almost was. [Breakdown — percussion becomes blunt and irregular; vocal half-sung] Not one mistake. Not one bad year. No single wreck That brought me here. A thousand mornings. A thousand nights. A thousand chances Passed me by. "Tomorrow." "Monday." "After this." "Next year I'll finally handle it." Life didn't cheat. Life didn't pause. I just kept feeding What failure costs. [Final Verse — unexpectedly gentle; fingerpicked acoustic only] Tonight I found that list again. The paper's yellow at the ends. My younger handwriting looks strange, Like something time forgot to change. At bottom, underneath the plans, I'd written: "Be a better man." I laughed once when I read that line. Then folded it along the spine. Put it back where it always was. Beside the man I almost was. [Outro — instrumental only; unresolved acoustic chords]