The Weight of Maybe

Maybe that’s the hardest word

I know.

Maybe you loved me.

Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe things would’ve worked

if the timing was different,

if we were different,

if life had been kinder.

Maybe.

It’s a word

with no ending.

A hallway

that never reaches a door.

And I’ve spent years there.

Walking back and forth

through old conversations,

old mistakes,

old versions of events

trying to find an answer

hidden somewhere

inside the wreckage.

But maybe

isn’t an answer.

Maybe

is the place we go

when the truth hurts too much.

The place between acceptance

and denial.

The place where hope

goes when it doesn’t know

how to die.

And I’m tired

of carrying it.

Tired of giving possibilities

more power

than reality.

Because reality is this—

some things happened.

Some things ended.

Some people left

without explaining why.

And no amount of maybe

will change it.

So tonight

I’m setting it down.

Not because I understand.

Not because I’m over it.

But because uncertainty

is a heavy thing

to drag through life.

And I’ve carried it

long enough.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe—

for once—

I don’t need to know.