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.