The Memory of Something I Never Lived ❣️
- Thread starter Honey bunch
- Start date
SeeyaGood night sweet dreams
You are an awesome writter
The Memory of Something I Never Lived
How do you long for a touch
your hands have never known?
For a presence your life has never held,
yet somehow, your heart has already made room for.
Maybe some kinds of longing begin
long before reality gives them a place to exist.
---
There is an emptiness in my palm
that feels strangely shaped like her hand.
A silence beside me
that somehow knows the weight of her presence.
Some nights,
I close my eyes and wonder
whether longing has a scent—
because something in the air
keeps reminding me of someone
I have never breathed beside.
Her voice reaches me
from somewhere beyond the glass,
and when it disappears,
the room feels a little larger.
Perhaps that's what distance does—
it doesn't merely keep two people apart.
It teaches the heart
to invent the closeness
the body is denied.
So I find myself imagining
the smallest things:
the warmth left behind
after her hand slips from mine,
the quiet between two breaths
when there is no screen between us,
the trace of her fragrance
lingering in the air
after she has walked away.
Strange, isn't it?
My hands have no memory of her,
yet they know what they are missing.
My skin has never known her touch,
yet somewhere beneath it,
something waits.
And perhaps this is the most beautiful cruelty of it—
I have no memory of her
that my body can keep.
Yet somehow,
her absence feels remembered.
Maybe some people enter our lives
without ever physically entering them.
They slip quietly beneath the skin
through words, through silences,
through nights spent staring at a little light—
until one day
you realize you are missing
a life you have never lived.
And I wonder…
when will this invisible distance
finally become a place I can cross?
When will the person
my heart has been reaching for
become someone my hands can finally find?
Until then,
I suppose I will keep carrying
this impossible little ache—
the memory of a touch
my body has never known,
the fragrance of a presence
I have never breathed,
and a longing
for someone who has never been here,
yet somehow
feels impossible
to be without.
---
Maybe that's the strange thing about longing—
the heart can remember
what the body has never lived.
View attachment 433195
Maybe the deepest kind of longing is missing something your hands have never held, yet your heart somehow remembers. This was beautifully haunting.
The Memory of Something I Never Lived
How do you long for a touch
your hands have never known?
For a presence your life has never held,
yet somehow, your heart has already made room for.
Maybe some kinds of longing begin
long before reality gives them a place to exist.
---
There is an emptiness in my palm
that feels strangely shaped like her hand.
A silence beside me
that somehow knows the weight of her presence.
Some nights,
I close my eyes and wonder
whether longing has a scent—
because something in the air
keeps reminding me of someone
I have never breathed beside.
Her voice reaches me
from somewhere beyond the glass,
and when it disappears,
the room feels a little larger.
Perhaps that's what distance does—
it doesn't merely keep two people apart.
It teaches the heart
to invent the closeness
the body is denied.
So I find myself imagining
the smallest things:
the warmth left behind
after her hand slips from mine,
the quiet between two breaths
when there is no screen between us,
the trace of her fragrance
lingering in the air
after she has walked away.
Strange, isn't it?
My hands have no memory of her,
yet they know what they are missing.
My skin has never known her touch,
yet somewhere beneath it,
something waits.
And perhaps this is the most beautiful cruelty of it—
I have no memory of her
that my body can keep.
Yet somehow,
her absence feels remembered.
Maybe some people enter our lives
without ever physically entering them.
They slip quietly beneath the skin
through words, through silences,
through nights spent staring at a little light—
until one day
you realize you are missing
a life you have never lived.
And I wonder…
when will this invisible distance
finally become a place I can cross?
When will the person
my heart has been reaching for
become someone my hands can finally find?
Until then,
I suppose I will keep carrying
this impossible little ache—
the memory of a touch
my body has never known,
the fragrance of a presence
I have never breathed,
and a longing
for someone who has never been here,
yet somehow
feels impossible
to be without.
---
Maybe that's the strange thing about longing—
the heart can remember
what the body has never lived.
View attachment 433195
Maybe the deepest kind of longing is missing something your hands have never held, yet your heart somehow remembers. This was beautifully haunting.
Thank you. I think that's what makes it so strange… sometimes you can miss something you have never even had, and somehow the feeling still feels so real.
This was a little difficult to read It was quite long and had so many thoughts packed into it.
The Memory of Something I Never Lived
How do you long for a touch
your hands have never known?
For a presence your life has never held,
yet somehow, your heart has already made room for.
Maybe some kinds of longing begin
long before reality gives them a place to exist.
---
There is an emptiness in my palm
that feels strangely shaped like her hand.
A silence beside me
that somehow knows the weight of her presence.
Some nights,
I close my eyes and wonder
whether longing has a scent—
because something in the air
keeps reminding me of someone
I have never breathed beside.
Her voice reaches me
from somewhere beyond the glass,
and when it disappears,
the room feels a little larger.
Perhaps that's what distance does—
it doesn't merely keep two people apart.
It teaches the heart
to invent the closeness
the body is denied.
So I find myself imagining
the smallest things:
the warmth left behind
after her hand slips from mine,
the quiet between two breaths
when there is no screen between us,
the trace of her fragrance
lingering in the air
after she has walked away.
Strange, isn't it?
My hands have no memory of her,
yet they know what they are missing.
My skin has never known her touch,
yet somewhere beneath it,
something waits.
And perhaps this is the most beautiful cruelty of it—
I have no memory of her
that my body can keep.
Yet somehow,
her absence feels remembered.
Maybe some people enter our lives
without ever physically entering them.
They slip quietly beneath the skin
through words, through silences,
through nights spent staring at a little light—
until one day
you realize you are missing
a life you have never lived.
And I wonder…
when will this invisible distance
finally become a place I can cross?
When will the person
my heart has been reaching for
become someone my hands can finally find?
Until then,
I suppose I will keep carrying
this impossible little ache—
the memory of a touch
my body has never known,
the fragrance of a presence
I have never breathed,
and a longing
for someone who has never been here,
yet somehow
feels impossible
to be without.
---
Maybe that's the strange thing about longing—
the heart can remember
what the body has never lived.
View attachment 433195
But I really liked the way you described that strange feeling of missing someone you have never even physically known.
The whole idea of the heart remembering something the body has never experienced is actually beautiful.
This was a little difficult to read It was quite long and had so many thoughts packed into it.
But I really liked the way you described that strange feeling of missing someone you have never even physically known.
The whole idea of the heart remembering something the body has never experienced is actually beautiful.
Thank you so much.
And yes, I know it was a little lengthy Some thoughts just kept flowing, and I couldn't bring myself to leave them unfinished.
I am really glad that, despite the length, you connected with the feeling behind it.
And yes, I know it was a little lengthy Some thoughts just kept flowing, and I couldn't bring myself to leave them unfinished.
I am really glad that, despite the length, you connected with the feeling behind it.