I wander through the quiet corridors of my mind, haunted by an absence that echoes like a forgotten melody. It's as if I've lost something profound-a whisper of potential, a shadow of what could have been-that I never truly possessed. I never cradled it in my arms, never gazed upon its form under the sun's indifferent light, never felt its weight pressing against my skin. And yet, this elusive phantom has been my constant companion, woven into the fabric of my days like an invisible thread, pulling at the edges of my existence.
How to live, then, in the wake of this paradoxical grief? To mourn what was never mine feels like chasing ghosts in the fog-futile, yet inescapably human. Perhaps the key lies in embracing the void, in recognizing that this "loss" is the spark of longing that drives us forward. It teaches me to savor the tangible joys, to build from the ashes of unfulfilled dreams, and to find solace in the rhythm of breath and heartbeat. For in acknowledging what I never had, I uncover the richness of what I do - a life unfolding, imperfect and alive.