#almost relationships

this reading is for the connections that never fully closed. the ones that still feel present in small ways, even after time has passed. take a breath, don’t overthink it, and choose the pile you feel most drawn to.

timeless reading. if it finds you, it’s meant to meet you where you are.

take what resonates, leave what doesn’t ♡

Pile 1: °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

9 of swords, 4 of pentacles, 7 of wands

this feels like something that was never said because it felt too vulnerable to say.

there’s a lot of overthinking here. words held back, things replayed late at night, things that almost came out but didn’t. someone cared more than they showed, but kept it locked in. not because it wasn’t real, but because it felt safer to hold onto it than risk what could happen if they said it out loud.

there’s also a strong sense of emotional guarding. both of you, or at least one of you, staying defensive, protecting yourself, not wanting to be the one who gives more or gets hurt first.

what’s left unsaid is simple, but heavy. “i felt more than i let on.” “i was scared to open up.”

Pile 2: °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

3 of wands reversed, 5 of swords, 6 of swords reversed

this feels like something that didn’t move forward the way it was supposed to.

plans that didn’t happen, distance that wasn’t crossed, something that stayed stuck instead of growing. there’s also tension here, maybe words that were said wrong, or situations that turned into conflict instead of understanding.

the 6 of swords reversed makes it feel like neither of you fully moved on from it, even if you tried to. there’s still a part of this connection that feels unfinished, like it never reached a proper conclusion.

what’s left unsaid here feels like frustration and regret. “this could have gone differently.”

Pile 3: °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

7 of cups reversed, 5 of pentacles, princess of cups

this feels like clarity that came too late.

someone didn’t fully understand their feelings at the time, or didn’t see the connection clearly until it was already slipping away. there’s a sense of emotional distance or loss here, like one person felt left out, unseen, or not chosen.

but the princess of cups brings something softer underneath it. feelings that were genuine, even if they weren’t expressed properly. something that wanted to be said, but stayed quiet or came out in smaller, indirect ways.

The air in the mid-2000s smelled like diesel, Georgia clay… and the specific brand of body spray she wore that felt like a federal crime.

Three days in the field. Three days of grit, sweat, and men slowly turning into machinery.

And somehow… she still smelled soft.

I was 245 pounds of military-grade muscle. A “bumbling hulk” of an Airman. Off-duty, I chased symmetry, rank, control. In uniform, I was the guy people looked at and assumed had it handled.

In that foxhole?

My central nervous system folded.

She was the anomaly.

Hair slicked back into a perfect, defiant bun. Nails done. Still clean.

No tactical sense.

Every kind of impact.

We sat shoulder to shoulder in that hole for three days. Close enough that silence had weight. Close enough that her voice didn’t need distance.

We laughed.

Too easily. Too naturally. Like the world outside that dirt didn’t apply to us.

And then she started offering things.

Small. Quiet. Dangerous things.

“I’m gonna be bored when we get back… it’s just me and my pet.”

I nodded.

Missed it.

“I’ve been wanting to cook something real when we’re back.”

I smiled.

Missed it.

She didn’t push.

She didn’t need to.

She just stayed there.

Warm. Present. Open in a way that didn’t beg… but invited.

And I stayed exactly where I was.

Strong enough to carry a man out of a combat zone. Too weak to carry one sentence across my own mouth.

I had the body. Not the timing.

So I did what cowards dressed as strategists do.

I told another man.

He wasn’t stronger than me.

Just simpler.

Cleaner.

He moved without hesitation. No analysis. No foxhole.

And she said yes.

Of course she did.

Because I never gave her a reason to say yes to me.

Later, I heard about it like it was nothing.

A story. A night. A shrug.

He laughed.

I didn’t.

Because for him… she was a notch.

For me… she was a life I never stepped into.

I’m older now.

The muscle stayed. The attitude hardened. The hesitation… buried under layers of “I don’t care.”

But sometimes

when the air shifts just right…

I still catch it.

That scent.

And it reminds me:

The strongest man in the room is often the one most afraid of a woman’s quiet invitation.

Dear you,

I never said it. Not once. Not with words.

But I loved you.

I loved you in the way I remembered how you took your coffee. In the way I sat beside you in silence and never felt the need to fill it.

I loved you in the half-finished sentences. In the way I let you talk about other girls and smiled like it didn’t bruise.

I loved you when you didn’t text back, and I still hoped.

I loved you like a secret I didn’t trust the world to hold gently.

You were never mine. Not in the way that counts.

But still, I built altars from our almosts. Hung your name inside every maybe. Turned my own longing into poetry because I was too afraid to make it a question.

What if you said no? What if I lost the version of you I got to keep by never asking for more?

So I didn’t say it.

I just sat next to you in cars, laughed at all the right jokes, and let my heart speak in glances you never looked long enough to catch.

And maybe that was love too. The kind that doesn’t ask to be returned. The kind that lives in the quiet spaces— between texts, between seasons, between the words I never said.

If I had told you, maybe it would’ve changed everything.

Or maybe nothing.

I’ll never know.

But I loved you. That’s the truth.

And maybe that’s enough.

She wants to wait but she’s running out of patience. She knows that waiting is sometimes a waste of a time. She knows that she could be waiting for something that might not even happen. She has learned that it’s better to walk away than wait. It’s better to let go than hold on to what ifs and maybes and almosts but she also knows that some people need more time because she also needs time. Too fast and things fall apart. Too slow and things just lose their spark.

She wants to be understanding but sometimes she doesn’t understand. Why people act so busy if they care. Why people who claim to like her never reach out. Why people don’t make an effort if they are interested.

She wants to stick around but she finds it easier to walk away. She finds it easier to be alone. She finds it easier to be selfishly guarded instead of getting hurt again. She doesn’t know how to be brave anymore.

Maybe she wants someone to teach her how or maybe she just wants to feel safe or maybe she just needs to mend all the broken pieces before she opens up to love again. But for now, she got used to running. She got used to leaving. She got used to loving from a distance and wondering if it will ever turn into anything real.