– a spoken word about the talking stage
We were not dating…
Yet I’d still get butterflies when your name lit up my screen.
We weren’t official…
Yet I’d overthink the space between your message and mine.
No, we hadn’t labeled it…
Still, you felt like home a person I could tell everything to without holding back.
In truth, we were stuck in that awkward in-between,
somewhere between “hi” and “I miss you,”
between “what’s your favorite color” and “could I meet your mum too?”
Some days it was “let’s take it slow,”
while my heart sprinted ahead, already planning forever.
At the beginning, I’ll admit it was exciting.
The late-night texts, the inside jokes, the voice notes that lulled me to sleep.
You’d call me “trouble,”
and I’d laugh, calling you “my peace.”
Ironically, those words aged like milk —spoiled with time.
As days turned into nights and nights into confusion,
I caught feelings, unknowingly, while you… you were just catching vibes.
I imagined dates,
while you needed someone to talk to when the world went quiet.
In the midst of it all, we shared dreams like they were secrets,
poured stories into each other’s ears like they’d never spill.
I told you about my childhood fears,
and in return, you told me about your ex
too often, too fondly.
Her name echoed louder in our talks than mine ever did.
Maybe I should’ve known then.
Still, I hoped.
To be fair, it’s not like you lied.
You were present, just not promising.
Available but never claiming.
And so I floated…
drifting in a sea of almosts and maybes.
There were days you said things like,
“I’ve never felt this safe with anyone.”
And there were other days,
I’d see her face on your story, your comment beneath another girl’s post.
That’s when the truth whispered:
I was being emotionally loyal to someone who wasn’t even mine.
Still, I stayed.
Because maybe, just maybe, if I loved you quietly enough… you’d hear it.
If I waited patiently enough… you’d choose me.
But time revealed a hard truth:
The talking stage?
It’s a trickster in disguise.
It teaches you that words without action are just illusions wearing cologne.
That a “good morning” doesn’t equal commitment.
That checking in doesn’t mean staying.
Eventually, when people asked about us,
I didn’t know what to say.
We weren’t dating.
Yet it hurt like heartbreak.
We weren’t official.
But losing you still felt like losing a part of me.
And perhaps that’s what makes the talking stage so brutal,
it gives you chapters,
but never promises a book.
It’s the trial version of love
that crashes just before you buy it.
Still, in all this, I’ve learned.
Love? It should never be confusing.
Consistency is not too much to ask.
Affection should not feel like a puzzle.
And I?
I deserve more than almosts.
More than “let’s see where this goes.”
I deserve someone who means what they say and says what they mean.
Someone who doesn’t make me second-guess my worth.
So, to the one who’s waiting in the grey:
Don’t camp in the silence between “maybe” and “more.”
Don’t sit in the ache of “almost.”
You deserve to be chosen,
Not quietly.
Not eventually.
But fully.
Finally.
For real.
Walking Shadow Poetry – Grow from what’s meant to kill you.
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1DN239VtWo
Leave a Reply