Tripping Over the String

They say we're all connected by an invisible string, a quiet thread spun by fate, stretching across lifetimes, places, and versions of ourselves we haven't even met yet. I used to believe in that. I used to think no matter how far we drifted, the string would hold. Gentle, unyielding, certain.

But after 22 years of wandering, I'm not so sure anymore.

Some days, I swear I can feel it, a subtle pull in my chest. It's like someone is whispering my name across time. Other days, it's just silence. And in that silence, I start to wonder, is the other end still tied to someone? Anyone. Or did they let go? Or... did I cut it my self?

This is a story about love that never quite found its timing. About questions that echo louder than answers. About the people we're meant to meet, and the quiet tragedy of almosts. It's about the string that might still be there, even if I've tripped over it more times than I can count.

And maybe, just maybe, it's about finding the courage to follow it, one step, one breath, one quiet hope at a time.