It is that which could have been you. Or us, maybe them. Or something that never really happened because it was just not meant to, I don’t know.

All you get is a taste, a tease, succulent enough to make you wonder and entertain the notion of the possible and the probable. A taste so good it will linger and plague you and one you will never forget. 

It is the almost, the what-if, and the regret.