What if?
What if I went out with her when she asked.
A drink between collegues. Talking about all the things that frustrate us.
Confessing things nobody else knows.
It could have brought us closer, could have made us friends.
I didn't.
I went home instead, opened a bottle of beer before trudging to bed-alone, as usual.
What if?
What if I had gone out with her when she asked.
A couple of drinks, dancing together like friends do. Declining advances from guys who think a pretty smile is enough to seduce a real lady.
Laughing, having fun.
I didn't.
I went home instead, put on my favourite cd before collapsing on the couch-alone, as usual.
What if?
What if I told her that night how much she affects me, crying on her shoulder, taking comfort in her embrace.
It might have made the desperate loneliness disappear.
I didn't.
Just brushed away the water threatening to spill from my eyes and turned to walk to my car before driving home, where I cried myself to sleep-alone, as usual.
Because I didn't.
Because I never do.
