Everything in "it would be so nice" takes place in the territory of almost. The title is a conditional, and the first line, "it must have felt", is a guess. The speaker is not describing a love they are living out loud. They are imagining how it would feel to say everything and be heard. The central idea is that real intimacy is less about grand declarations than about the freedom to say small, true things without fear. The poem is built around the ache of not having that freedom.
The form carries this longing. The whole poem is a single sentence, with no full stop until the last line. Its stanzas pile up like a wish list, each opening with a variation on the same infinitive: "to be able to pour out", "to be able to tell them", "to get to listen", "and to be able to tell them". There is no rhyme and the lines are short, so the reader moves in small, breathless steps. In the first stanza the single word "wholeheartedly" sits alone at the end, the longest word in a run of plain monosyllables. It is the ideal the speaker is reaching for, and it hangs at the end of the stanza like something just out of reach. The final line is the longest in the poem and lands with the weight of everything held back before it.
The imagery is sparse, which makes the few images stand out. "Pour out" treats love as liquid in a vessel, something already full and pressing against its limits. The only real scene is "when they ride out / at midnight". The poem never says what they ride, and it doesn't need to. The hour and the verb "worried" are enough to draw a figure leaving into the dark and someone left behind, imagining the worst. Love here is mostly anxious waiting.
What the speaker longs for is not romantic but ordinary: listening to "how their days went", "every single days", "every rants". The word "rants" is deliberately unglamorous. To want to hear someone's complaints day after day is a more convincing picture of love than any grand gesture. The grammar bends in places ("every single days", "even when you just / talking to them"). Whether deliberate or not, this gives the poem the feel of a message typed in a moment of feeling and left unpolished. The same stanza holds a small paradox that anyone who has missed someone will recognise: missing a person "even when you just / talking to them / an hour ago". Longing does not follow logic, and the poem doesn't try to explain it.
The most revealing choice is the pronoun. The word "I" never appears. The speaker says "you" throughout ("the love you have", "how much you worried") and refers to the other person only as "them". The speaker hides behind a general "you", as if it were safer to describe love as a role anyone might play than to claim it. The beloved is just as nameless. The poem is intimate in its content but cautious in its grammar, which suggests someone rehearsing a confession rather than making one.
The ending sharpens this. The last line shifts into the past tense: "how much they really meant to you." "Meant" may hint that the chance is already slipping away, though that is an inference and not something the poem states. "Really" admits that so far the feeling has been expressed only partly. The poem's single full stop falls right after "you", the word the speaker has been using as a mask. The line may be about the speaker after all.
The poem is worth reading because it gets so much from so little. It uses everyday words and an unadorned shape, and it lets absence do the work. The tenderness it describes, worrying at midnight and listening to rants, is easy to overlook until it is missing. By keeping everything in the conditional, the poem makes the reader feel the gap between what is wished for and what is said. Many people will recognise that gap, and few poems about it are as quiet or as honest.