I'm drowning in could-have-beens

It's 3:17 AM and I'm staring at the ceiling, again. Sleep is a luxury I can barely afford these days, not because I'm working too hard, but because my brain won't shut up. It's a highlight reel of all the stupid things I've done, but mostly it replays the one big, colossal mistake I made about five years ago.

Her name was Clara. We met in college, both art students, instantly clicked. I mean, *really* clicked. We spent hours talking, laughing, sketching together. Everyone thought we were dating, but we weren't. Not officially. I was too chicken, I guess. Too scared of ruining the friendship, or being rejected, or… I don’t even know what I was afraid of.

Clara was amazing. She was funny, smart, kind, and unbelievably talented. She saw the world in a way I never could, and she pushed me to be a better artist, a better person. We were inseparable. We were *everything* to each other, without ever actually being anything.

Then graduation came, and the real world hit. We both got jobs, hers in a different city a few hours away. We promised to stay in touch, to visit, to make it work. But life happened. I got caught up in my own little world, chasing deadlines and trying to make a name for myself. I called less, visited even less. Excuses piled up like dirty laundry. I was 'too busy', 'too tired'. The truth is, I was just a coward. I knew she wanted more, and I was too afraid to give it to her, or to admit that I wanted it too.

She met someone else. I found out through mutual friends, a casual mention at a party. A guy who was ‘really great’, who ‘totally adored her’. It felt like someone punched me in the gut. I knew I’d screwed up, big time. I’d had my chance, and I’d thrown it away.

I tried to call her then, to finally tell her how I felt, but it was too late. She was happy. I could hear it in her voice when she picked up. I mumbled something about being happy for her, and hung up. I haven't spoken to her since.

Now, five years later, I'm stuck here, replaying it all. Wondering what would have happened if I'd just been brave enough to tell her I loved her. If I'd just driven those few hours, if I'd just risked it all. Maybe we'd be married now, with kids. Maybe we'd be miserable, divorced, and hating each other. But at least I'd know. At least I wouldn't be drowning in these could-have-beens. The regret is a constant ache, a dull throb that never really goes away. I messed up, and I don't know how to forgive myself for it. I hope she's happy, truly. But God, it hurts.