I've spent years watching people drift out of my life, and somewhere along the way I started to wonder if I'd ever feel whole again. It's strange trying to explain a pain that doesn't sit in one place - it sits in your chest, in your memories, in the quiet moments when you least expect it. There's this hollow space inside me that used to be filled with laughter, moments, faces I thought would stay forever. Now it's just echoes. Memories I don't know how to hold without breaking. A tenderness that stings. A nostalgia that feels heavier than grief itself. No one warns you that the most beautiful days of your life often pass before you realise they were the golden ones. And by the time you finally understand their meaning, they're already gone - slipping through your fingers like dust you can't gather again. That's the cruelty of losing people. You don't just lose them. You lose the version of yourself you were with them. You lose the time, the innocence, the joy that lived in those moments. And you're left sitting with a longing so deep it feels like your soul is homesick for a life you can't return to. It's exhausting telling yourself that "everything happens for a reason" when you're replaying memories like old films. praying you'll get even one more scene. Wondering if life will ever feel that bright again. Wondering if you'll ever experience a moment so pure that you'll know - right then - "This is it. This is the best part."