Could have been

She is a constant reminder of what could have been.

A subtle hint of the dream,

of the fiction that never came to be.

I started living. And so did she.

Each alone, but still She was there, always, but only a memory.

A love that was there in the letters. But never made real.

Words of written text, of longing and lies.

Fear getting under my skin. Making me turn from the dream.

Saying those sentences that I thought should be said.

Lies like "You know we can never be..." wispered and stuck in my mind,

even now, after years they are there, and still echoes. A love,

lost, that echoes forever.