Just slightly

I tell myself
Slightly
I might miss you slightly
and it's only a little bit
awkward
when we met by chance
and I couldn't tell
if the sting in my eyes
was because I didn't know
where to look
or because I missed you

But that,
I tell myself,
doesn't matter.

I shouldn't much care
even slightly
if missing is just something
I do,
even if you don't.

And I shouldn't
in the least
give a second thought
about times gone
because I claimed
to turn a proverbial page
and erase you away.

Beset, however,
by tides of fierce pain
rooted in happiness past,
I begin to think
that 'should' matters very little
and 'could' matters more.

I don't think
it was the shoulds of it all
that drove us
to where we are;
perhaps, though,
the fear of coulds
had slightly something
to do with it.

No, I should not miss you.
Yet I do.
We could have been,
maybe.
Just perhaps.
Just slightly.