probably in another life

1. The narrator's age is 18.


All I wanted was to kiss you.
Like, lips on lips, no overthinking – just... yeah.
You were talking about something, but all I could focus on was your mouth.
Those soft, chill, kinda perfect lips. And your body? Don’t even get me started.

You kept tucking your hair behind your ear like it wasn’t killing me every time.
Sun hit your skin just right, your loose tank top fluttered in the breeze, all slow-mo like a damn movie.
And we were walking down that beach, sand sticking to our legs, little bits of shells stabbing at my feet, waves being all dramatic.

The sun was melting into the horizon – real pretty stuff –
but I wasn’t watching any of it.
I was watching you.

You were walking just a bit ahead, all relaxed, towel tossed over your shoulder, shoulders a little sunburned.
And I swear, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life. Like, actual heart attack level.

And I couldn’t stop thinking –
what if you turned around right now, took my hand, and we just… started something?
We’d surf all day and fall asleep on the same couch, tangled up.
You’d steal my hoodies. We’d kiss under streetlights.
I'd tell people you're my person, and I wouldn't care what they thought.
We'd be stupid happy. Young and burning and so alive.
It all felt so close I could taste it.

But then, what if it doesn't work out? You're 23… What if you’re looking for someone with more experience? Someone who’s already been in relationships?
What if I’m not enough, because I’m still learning, still figuring out who I am, who I want to be?
Am I even the right guy for you, when you’ve probably already had your fair share of love and heartbreak?
Maybe I’ll just stay quiet about it. Keep walking with you.

I didn’t wanna freak you out or come on too strong.
Didn’t wanna ruin whatever this was.
But honestly?
It wasn’t enough.
You weren’t enough –
I needed all of you.
For real.

Probably in another life…


2. The narrator's age is 28.


All I wanted – truly – was to kiss you.

To let my lips meet yours, just once. Yours, so soft, so impossibly inviting.
You were saying something, I’m sure. And I? I could only think of your mouth.
Of your body.
You kept talking, and I kept quietly unraveling, trying to hold it together, not knowing where to place this restless, wordless longing.

The way you’d brush your hair behind your ear,
the way the late sun lit up your skin,
the way that lazy summer wind toyed with your loose tank top –
God.
We were just walking along the beach.
The sand clung to our damp legs. Broken shells pricked at our soles. The waves kept reaching for us, over and over.
The sun, drunk on its own beauty, kept folding into the ocean.

And still – I didn’t see any of it.
I didn’t hear a thing.
It was only you – walking slightly ahead of me,
your towel slung carelessly over your sunburned shoulders,
your gait effortless, unthinking.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.

And all I could think –
if you were mine, really mine,
we’d build a life so solid, so quiet and good.
Mornings with coffee and shared silence.
A place of our own by the sea, bookshelves filled, a dog maybe.
I’d know how to care for you.
We’d fight over groceries and kiss in supermarket aisles.
You’d fall asleep on my chest, and I’d stop looking for anything else.
God, I wanted THAT life with you.

But then I started thinking...
You’re 23.
You’ve got your whole life ahead of you – you’re still out there chasing fun, experiences, freedom.
Are you really thinking about settling down yet? About family, building a home?
I’ve been there – I know how it feels to want nothing more than the world at your feet.
Do you even want someone like me? Someone who’s been around the block a few times and is ready for something more grounded?
I’m not sure I’m what you want…

I didn’t want to scare you off.
Didn’t want to seem needy, or reckless.
Didn’t want to shatter what we had.
But what we had – it just wasn’t enough.

You weren’t enough.
I wanted all of you.

Probably in another life…



3. The narrator's age is 48.


All I ever desired, truly, was to kiss you.
To place my lips – tenderly, deliberately – upon yours,
those lips so maddeningly soft, so impossibly near,
and yet entirely beyond my reach.
You were speaking – some idle musing, perhaps –
but I could scarcely register the words.
My mind, I’m afraid, had quite taken leave of reason.
It was wholly preoccupied – with you.

The curve of your neck,
the way the sunlight alighted on your cheek,
how your fingers absentmindedly brushed the hair from your face...
There was something unbearably captivating in the ease of it.
Unthinking grace.
You were, quite literally, radiant.

We walked by the sea that evening,
wet sand clinging to our feet,
shells crunching beneath us...
The sun was slipping beneath the edge of the world
with all the slow dignity of a dying monarch.

You walked just ahead,
a towel slung carelessly over your bronzed shoulders,
your gait unhurried, utterly unbothered –
as though you belonged to the elements themselves:
the wind, the salt, the sky…

You're only 23, and I can't help but wonder – if our romance begins, will I be nothing more than a mentor to you, someone with experience to offer? 
Will I be the seasoned lover, the one who once knew all the tricks, but no longer has the fire of youth? 
Or perhaps I'll simply be here to provide comfort, stability – a "sugar daddy" figure? 
What could I possibly offer you when you have your whole life ahead of you, full of passion and new beginnings? 
How I wish I could go back, be young again, and meet you as an equal, someone who could truly be with you...

I didn’t want to speak.
Didn’t want to ruin what little connection we had.
But even so, it wasn’t enough.
You weren’t enough –
I needed all of you.

Probably in another life…