Art of Almost emerged from chaos, not clarity. For 19 years, its author quietly denied her truth, performing straightness as though it were a role she never auditioned for. From her earliest school days, she felt misaligned. Crushes felt different, and friendships carried an unnameable weight. In a world that celebrated conformity and punished vulnerability, she learned to bury her truth deep and label it "almost."
She almost spoke. She almost felt. She almost believed she could be loved for who she truly was.
For 19 years, she lived a script that wasn't hers. She played the role of the girl who liked boys, laughed at unfunny jokes, dated people she didn't desire, and even said "I love you" like a rehearsed line instead of a truth she felt. Every glance in the mirror reflected someone practicing a life, not living it.
Then, three years ago, everything changed. A soft masc lesbian—gentle yet self-assured—shared their story. Not through grand declarations, but by simply existing openly, fearlessly, unapologetically. It wasn't just their words but their presence that opened something within her. For the first time, queerness wasn't a threat—it was a possibility, a way of being that required no explanation, only acceptance.
That moment planted the seed for Art of Almost. It started as journal entries, bits of poetry, and whispered voice memos in the dark. It grew into a project exploring the tension between who we are and who we're told to be. It's about the pain of hiding, the relief of being seen, and the messy, beautiful journey of becoming.
That moment was a spark. It didn't ignite a fire overnight, but it warmed something long frozen. She began to write—not for others, but for herself. Journal entries that bled. Poems that wept. Voice memos that trembled. Each word was a step toward herself. Each sentence a reclamation.
Art of Almost became her sanctuary. A place to explore the tension between who she was and who she was told to be. It's about the ache of hiding, the relief of being seen, and the messy, beautiful journey of becoming. It's about the years lost to silence and the joy found in truth.
Now, time feels different. It no longer stretches like a punishment—it flows like a river, carrying her forward. She no longer lives in the margins. She no longer rehearses love—she feels it. She no longer says "I love you" like a line—she says it like a heartbeat.
Art of Almost isn't just a title. It's a declaration. A reclamation. A love letter to every version of herself that almost lived, almost loved, almost dared. Now, she does.