It's strange how quietly life rearranges itself. One day certain habits feel stitched into our bones like the morning messages, the familiar voices, the little rituals built around people who once lived in the center of our ordinary days. And then, slowly, almost invisibly, the rhythm changes. Conversations grow shorter, silences grow longer, and the spaces they once filled begin to echo. Sometimes life pulls us in different directions, and sometimes we are simply left standing at the edge of memories with no choice but to keep walking forward. We don't always stop loving the people we sometimes just outgrow, we just learn how to carry them differently like old songs me no longer play every day but still know by heart, they remain somewhere within us soft, distant, and a little bittersweet. And I think the saddest kind of beauty is understanding that some chapters were never meant to last forever, yet they shaped the way our story continues to be written.