The Weight of What Could Have Been

She lays in the quiet, the ceiling her sky,
Where echoes of dreams drift silently by.
Each star she once chased, now dimmed in its glow,
A map of ambitions she’ll never quite know.

The pages she left unwritten, unread,
The words of her wisdom unspoken, unsaid.
Books on the shelf, untouched by her hand,
A fortress of knowledge, a castle of sand.

Her thoughts, like a storm, unravel the past,
The moments she squandered, the shadows they cast.
Each “what if” a dagger, each “could have” a chain,
Binding her soul in the grip of her pain.

But guilt is a thief, a cunning deceit,
It preys on the heart to make hope retreat.
She wonders, though faintly, if time might forgive,
If dormant potential still whispers to live.

For seeds can still flourish when given the rain,
And dreams, though delayed, can bloom once again.
Perhaps in her sorrow, she’ll find what is true:
That paths may diverge, but the journey renews.