Maybe we had it in shreds and shards— like jigsaw pieces lost in the folds of living, tucked in the creases where time forgets. Maybe we had it in flickers and flares, a celebration no one came to share. Maybe we lived it in a storyline half-told, tangled in a tale, a memory that never quite took hold. Maybe we wandered a maze of might-have-beens, tracing the echoes of what never found a name. Maybe we searched for the way back out— not knowing we were never locked in, just rootless souls trying to carve a corner in the vastness of our own homelessness.