Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere, that quiet ache of not being able to live every life I imagine. To never know how it feels to wake up as someone else, in a different city, speaking a language that rolls off the tongue like it was always mine. To carry stories l'II never step into, to feel versions of myself that will never get the chance to exist. It's not greed for more, it's something different... a longing to be more than just one path, one story, one set of choices. Because every yes I choose gently buries a thousand other maybes but I think that's also what makes this one life feel so delicate, so painfully beautiful, because every step I take is a step away from countless others, and every moment I hold is something I chose, something that will never exist in quite the same way again, like a fleeting glimpse of all that could have been, held gently in the only life l get to call mine. In the quiet corners of my mind, there are lives I would have loved deeply, but will only ever meet as thoughts before I fall asleep.