Not because we were together, but because of everything we could have been. It follows me through ordinary days and sleepless nights, hiding in songs, familiar places, and random moments when my mind drifts back to you. I don't miss what we had as much as I miss what we never got the chance to become. Sometimes I find myself imagining a future that was never written, a future where we stayed, where we chose each other despite the difficulties, where our story continued instead of ending unfinished. In that version of life, maybe we learned each other's habits, celebrated small victories together, and grew older knowing we had someone to come home to. But reality gave us questions instead of answers, possibilities instead of certainty. And somehow, those possibilities are harder to let go of. You cannot grieve a completed story the same way you grieve one that ended before it truly began. So our potential forever hunts me, not as a memory, but as a dream. A reminder of what could have been if timing had been kinder, if circumstances had been different, or if we had simply found a way. And though I continue moving forward, a part of me still wonders about the life we left behind before it ever had the chance to exist.