To All the Boys and Men I Liked

An ode to the almost, the timing mismatches, and the quiet lessons we carry with us.

There are people you don’t forget, not because they stayed, but because they showed you something about yourself.

This is for them.

For the boys I liked; briefly, deeply, quietly, or all at once.

Some names I barely remember. Some still make me laugh when they cross my mind.

None of it lingers like longing.

Like, oh yes… that happened.

And somehow, I’m better for it.

To the boy who liked the idea of me more than the reality

thank you for teaching me the difference.

To the one I liked first

awkward and sweet, all heart and no timing.

To the one I never told

I hope you felt it, anyway.

To the one who thought I was out of his league

I wish you knew that kindness would’ve been enough.

To the one who was figuring himself out

so was I. Maybe that’s why we never quite met in the middle.

To the one I liked for most of secondary school

why didn’t we spend more time together?

To the one who didn’t have the confidence to ask me to be his

I noticed. I waited. Then I moved on.

To the one who wasn’t patient with me

I needed more time. You needed more certainty. We both deserved something softer.

To the ones who wanted me whole, when I was still figuring out my pieces

I understand now why it didn’t work. I don’t blame you.

To the one who saw me clearly, but still chose distance

maybe you were right. Maybe we both were.

I don’t carry any of it with heaviness.

No bitterness. No wishful thinking. Just breath and a bit of softness.

I’m doing well now truly.

Not in the shiny, performative sense, but in the quiet, ordinary way that matters most.

I’ve made peace with timing.

With who I was back then, and who I was becoming while liking you.

I trust that you’re doing well too.

That you’re loving, fully, voraciously, without abandon.

That you’ve healed in places I never knew were bruised.

If I could go back, I would be braver.

I would lean in instead of holding back out of fear that I was too much, or not enough.

I would honour the connection for what it was, instead of waiting for it to become something it never promised to be.

I’d be more intentional.

More present.

Still, I don’t regret any of it 👀

Not the butterflies. Not the awkward silences. Not the almosts.

All of it taught me how I want to be loved and how I want to love back.

So this is me, years later, sending you light.

No lingering questions. No open wounds. Just a quiet acknowledgment of what was and what wasn’t.

You were part of the mosaic.

Not the whole picture but a stroke in the background, a note in the notes app, a page in a chapter I now read with a smile.

No regrets. Just wonderment.

Thank you for being a part of the becoming.

—

With tenderness,

Toby 🍩

💬 Enjoyed this post?

Share it with someone who’s grown through their own almosts.

Or drop a comment, I’d love to hear which line stayed with you.