If he was there for me, maybe I wouldn’t be split— like sand torn quietly beneath the sea.

The choke of ecstasy from artificial bliss— there must be something else that exists.

If she had been there, maybe I wouldn’t demean. To be seen was all I ever asked— but questions trail me, unanswered in their wake.

If he was there, maybe I wouldn’t be free— shackled instead by the iron links of reality.

If she was present, maybe I wouldn’t feel this gravity— the weight of the world nesting in my chest.

To ask for love is to chase smoke— but now, all I ask is what if.

The world keeps happening. It always does. But—

What if I could’ve been seen? What could’ve been?