Lately, I have found myself thinking about him more often than I would like to admit.
And that led me to an uncomfortable question:
Am I missing him as the person he truly is, or am I missing the possibility he represents?
The truth is, I am not entirely sure.
I know pieces of his story. I know some of his habits, some of his experiences, and fragments of the life he has shared with me. But there is still so much I do not know.
Yet somehow, his absence feels noticeable.
Perhaps that is why this question matters.
Because sometimes what we miss is not only a person. Sometimes we miss what that person awakens within us.
Hope.
Possibility.
The idea that maybe, after years of waiting, uncertainty, and unanswered questions, something meaningful could finally be taking shape.
Maybe what I am holding onto is not certainty, but potential.
Not a promise, but a possibility.
And perhaps there is nothing wrong with that, as long as I remember the difference.
Because a person deserves to be known for who they truly are, not only for the dreams we quietly attach to them.
So for now, I choose to sit with the question rather than rush toward an answer.
Am I missing him?
Or am I missing what he represents?
Perhaps time will tell.
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