Almost is the most honest word

I almost called. I almost wrote. I almost said the sentence I had been folding and unfolding in my coat pocket for two weeks. I almost stayed an extra hour and let the rest of my day fall apart around me on purpose.

Almost is the most honest word I have. It does not pretend to be courage. It does not pretend to be cowardice. It admits that I was close, that the distance between what I did and what I wanted to do was the width of a single thought I could not finish.

I am not embarrassed by almost anymore. I used to be. I used to want the cleaner verbs, the ones that come with photographs. Now I think almost is where most of my real life happens, in the breath before a sentence I will not say.