There are versions of us
that will never exist.
People we almost became.
Lives we almost touched.
Dreams that stood at the edge
of becoming real
before life carried us elsewhere.
And sometimes,
in quiet moments,
we think of them.
Not because we wish
we had chosen differently.
But because we wonder
if they think of us too.
If somewhere
in another life,
the person we never became
looks toward the horizon
and imagines
the life we are living now.