NEARLY IS A KINGDOM—that never was—by Stefanie Salguero Say

Once,
I stood at the edge of everything
I had ever asked the universe for—
hands full,
heart racing,
close enough to taste the victory
on the tip of my tongue.
I had almost everything.
Almost the love.
Almost the life.
Almost the version of me
I had bled to become.
But nearly
is a cruel kind of magic.
Nearly is the ghost
that lingers in your ribs,
whispering,
you were close,
as if close could ever hold you
the way certainty does.
Nearly does not warm your hands
in the winter of regret.
It does not sit beside you
when the silence gets loud.
Nearly
doesn’t count.
Because almost being loved
still leaves you lonely.
Almost arriving
still leaves you wandering.
Almost becoming
still leaves you questioning
who you were supposed to be.
And so I learned—
not gently,
never gently—
that the universe does not reward
those who linger at the threshold.
You either step forward
and claim the fire,
or you stand in its shadow
and call it fate.
So if I ever stand there again,
at the edge of almost—
I will not hesitate.
I will not settle for echoes.
I will either have it
in my hands,
in my bones,
in my name—
or I will walk away
before nearly
has the chance
to break me twice.