Coping mechanism :)

Do you know what the true tragedy of life is? 

It’s that no matter where you go, you always leave a part of yourself behind. A piece of your heart remains in every place you once called home, with every person you smiled at a bit too long, and with every fleeting feeling that carved itself into your memory. You might go somewhere and develop a quiet crush on someone, the kind that blooms in silence and flourishes in glances. But then life pushes you forward. You leave them behind, like a gentle song fading from a train window. You might fall in love with a city, with its streets, its rhythm, and the smell of late evenings. Then you find yourself 2000 kilometers away, staring at a map like it’s a portal you can’t open anymore. Life has a funny, unkind way of taking things from us. People often say, “What’s meant for you will stay,” or “If it leaves, it wasn’t yours.” But isn’t that just a poetic excuse for something that is deeply painful and unfair? Because maybe it was meant for you. Maybe you were meant to love that person for exactly as long as you did. Maybe that place did feel like home because, for a while, it really was. Yet, life doesn't wait for us to be ready. It doesn’t warn us when something is ending. It doesn’t say, “Hold on tighter—this is the last time.” It just ends. Quietly. Abruptly. And we’re left carrying the weight of almosts and should-haves, forever etched into our memories. Wouldn't it be kinder if the universe told us when we’re about to experience a final moment? So we could say goodbye properly, feel it completely, and leave nothing unsaid? 

But it won’t. It never does. 

And so we live with the aching feeling that we didn’t do enough—not having stayed longer, looked harder, or loved louder. That regret settles into us, quietly and permanently. Maybe that’s what makes us human. And maybe, just maybe, the ache is the goodbye we never got.