I think about him sometimes
not a face,
not a name,
just a feeling that never found me.
Like a song
I somehow already know the words to,
but its never been played out loud.
I imagine
he would’ve noticed the small things
like the way I carry everything at once
like I was built to break but never do.
The way I love…
Too deep, too fast, too real for the wrong hands.
I imagine
he wouldn’t call that “too much”
He’d call it home.
But the truth is
he never came.
Not in the years I was learning love
from the people who only knew how to take.
Not in the moments
I needed to be chosen
without having to beg for it.
Not when I was soft.
Not when I was breaking.
Not even now
that I’ve learned how to stand on my own
like I don’t need anyone at all.
Maybe he exists
in some life I didnt live.
Some version of me
that didn’t have to grow sharp edges
just to survive soft hearts.
Or maybe
and this is the part I don’t say outloud
Maybe there is no “right one”
Maybe there’s just
timing that misses,
people who almost stay,
and lessons that love us
harder than any man ever could.
Still…
there’s a quiet place in me
that kept a seat open.
Not out of desperation
but out of hope.
And I don’t know
if that makes me foolish
or faithful.
I just know
no one ever sat there.
Ashley Monae 