Maybe I should have tried once more.
Maybe tonight would be not so cold, no so tough.
Maybe I could have found a bottle with a message:
Then everything would have been simpler and clearer.
Then I would have felt sure and safe.
Then tonight would have been an evening of glasses of wine, smiles and bodies.
But all of that wouldn’t have been my life.
It would have been yours. Others’. Someone else’s.
Me, I am on the verge. About to.
No “more maybes” at all, sorry for that.
I keep going and going on: present continuous. Continuous.