I wrote this once...

 "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, It might have been."John Greenleaf Whittier.

I think and reflect. Of what might have been.Of what could have been.  But of what will never be. 

And I guess, those thoughts are ones of melancholic sadness.  It is always hard to think of the loss of the potential. 

Especially when we know exactly what that potential was or could have been.

It could have been. It might have been. It never will be.

And I write it again now, for the very same reason, almost 10 years on.

Different time. 

Different person

But the very same loss, similar feelings. The same realisation.

Life moves in strange ways. Not always good ones. All I can take from this is knowing that I’ve listened to the part of me that has said “this is not ok”

I will take that. There’s nothing else to take right now.