I Wrote This Instead of Screaming

I reached out when the rain let up,
just to see how you were doing. 
Said I was sorting through old boxes,
found a photo of us then. 
You answered like the air grew thin,
careful words and steady tone. 
I laughed too loud, you didn't match it -
I guess I should've known. 

We were almost friends,
but I was the only one who tried.
You kept your distance kindly, 
I pretended not to mind. 
You said, "It's good to hear from you,"
and I smiled like it made sense. 
You called it closure,
I called it almost friends. 

I told you I still hum that song
you swore you'd never play again. 
You said you've changed, and maybe that's true - 
you sounded lighter than back then.
I mentioned how the city's changed,
how I don't walk by where you lived. 
You said, "Yeah, I don't go there now,"
and I took that as forgiveness. 

We were almost friends, 
but I was the only one who tried.
You kept your distance kindly,
I pretended not to mind. 
You said, "It's good to hear from you,"
and I smiled like it made sense.
You called it closure,
I called it almost friends. 

I thought reaching out meant healing,
but it only drew the line. 
You spoke in past tense comfort,
I spoke in present time. 
You've built a life I can't step into,
and I don't blame you for the fence - 
it's strange to see you happy
in a world that makes no sense. 

We were almost friends,
the kind who almost made it right. 
You closed the door so gently,
I couldn't call it a fight. 
You said, "Take care, it's been a while,"
and I knew that was the end. 
You called it mercy,
I called it almost friends. 

Now your number's still there in my phone, 
though I don't plan to send. 
I reached out for peace,
and found the end.
We were almost something - 
we were almost friends.