February 28, 2016

Dear Almost Right.

woman hands converse legs

We are so close!

There’s just this one single stubborn gap and if we could just find some way to fill it.

Many would advise that there are always gaps, that nothing is perfect—just meet each other half way!

But halfway is not enough, for this is not the soft space that separates imperfection and perfection, real and ideal.

This is the hard place between right and wrong.

But what if I were to stretch myself enough to meet you there? To bridge the gap. I suppose that I could. We are built for stretching, yielding, compromise and flexibility. We can mold these selves to fit anything. We are chameleons, if we choose to be.

And when will I yield so far that I snap, break, disappear? How far can one go before they are lost, before they become something, someone altogether new, a stranger?

Eventually I will shrivel up into a corner, tired, broken, bitter. Unable to recognize myself. No longer inclined to meet anyone or anything half way.

And if you dared offer to meet me, to yield enough to connect us, I wouldn’t want you to. I wouldn’t want that for anyone.

Besides, I love the person you are now—not the version of you stretched so thin that I can barely recognize you.

I love the person I cannot reach.

And I’m betting you do, too.

Maybe we can just leave it up to time to connect us, to shrink this space. Though it may just as likely widen. One can never tell. That’s the gamble. The coin flip.

To leave something so special to something so capricious, it’s crazy really. The only thing crazier is the alternative. To lose the selves that were so carefully cultivated, created, chosen. To push them and pull them and mold them into a stranger.

A person that settles. A person I do not know.

A person that I, we, would not like. And could not love.



Your Almost Right. And Your Wrong.




Author: Jenny Spitzer

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: Pexels 

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