If she could have looked past her preconceptions
If I could have handled her insinuations
If I could have been more gentle when I speak
If we each could have kept sheathed our stubborn streak
If she could have valued me a smidgen more
If I could have been a little less the bore
If she hadn't frequently crawled onto a ledge
If I hadn't so readily pushed her off the edge
If I hadn't habitually dredged the past
If her tongue hadn't so eagerly sassed
If we could have been slightly less critical
And silenced remarks a tad too cynical
If she could have more easily forgiven
If only I weren't so fearfully driven
Such seemingly inconsequential details
Together totaled a set of coffin's nails
And so I sit and wonder over and again
If only . . . If only . . . Ah, what might have been . . .