Isn’t it haunting?
to know you exist in countless versions,
and none of them belong entirely to you?
To someone, you were kindness,
arriving on a day that needed gentleness.
To another, you were absence—
a vanishing act with no farewell.
For some, you are laughter rising above the noise;
for others, a quiet that lingers,
echoing where words once lived.
To one, you are the person who stayed.
To another, the lesson that taught them how to walk away.
And none of them are wrong.
You live in pieces, scattered across memories
that will never agree on who you were.
Perhaps that is both the ache and the grace of being human.
You are not one story.
You are a collage of moments,
held together by how others choose to remember you.