Candid Club

I knew I couldn’t have you.
So I didn’t let myself love you.
Not out loud. Not even quietly.
Not even in the soft, secret parts of my mind where no one else could see.

I didn’t play it out in daydreams.
I didn’t wonder what could happen if the timing was different, or if we met in another way.
I didn’t let myself linger.

Instead, I looked away.
Every time it started to feel like something, I turned the feeling off.
Changed the subject. Focused on anything else.

Because what’s the point?

I knew how it would end. Or rather, I knew it wouldn’t begin.
And I didn’t want to sit in that kind of ache.

So I stayed careful.
Kept it light.
Made sure no one, especially me, could mistake it for more than it was allowed to be.

There were moments, though.
Small, ordinary ones that caught me off guard.
Where I almost felt it, almost let it show.

But I always pulled back.

And maybe that’s what makes it all a little sad.
Not because I lost anything, but because I never gave it the chance to exist.

It’s not a story I’ll tell.
There’s nothing to say.
No beginning. No ending.
Just something I carried for a while, and chose not to look at too closely.

And maybe that was the right thing.
Maybe that was the kindest thing I could do, for you, and for me.