Almost

I almost messaged you tonight. They say alcohol has a way of impairing cognitive functions, but missing you has never been so clear.

I almost drove to your house tonight. I placed my right hand on the empty seat beside me, caressing the leather underneath my thumb. It was no replacement for the warmth of your touch. I would've parked in front of your apartment, hypnotized by the drone of raindrops tapping on my windshield, hoping to, even for a second, catch a glimpse of you.

I almost didn't write about you tonight. I made the mistake of using the earphones I lent you. It still had the scent of vanilla that was as overwhelming as it was familiar, and it was almost as if you were beside me again.