Approximation. Not Quite.

These almosts.. I think,
have a knack for quiet.
I tell you, they are muted taciturns.
Unkind, almost.

The fault, I believe
is not their own.
Disappointment, after all
was never clamorous.
Settles in melancholy,
breeds in silence.

It rained today.
Well, it almost did.
The sky did turn gray.
Winds did blow.
Birds did crow.

But that's the thing about almosts.
Almosts and half-promises.
Uncertain. Dangling in between..
of is and isn'ts,
of have and have-nots.
And among losses,
of an entirely different sort.