Amelia James Poetry

We were fingertips brushing,

a spark too soft to catch flame.

Love spelled out in glances,

but never in a name.

You were a song half-written,

melody stuck in my mind.

A kiss I almost tasted,

a fate never underlined.

We stood on the edge of something,

too afraid to fall.

Now we’re ghosts in each other’s stories,

barely there at all.

And maybe in another life,

where timing isn’t cruel,

we won’t be an almost—

we’ll be the exception to the rule.

-Amelia James