The world is full of people I used to know. They are everywhere I lookโon bustling streets, in quiet coffee shops, behind glowing windows as twilight falls. Their faces blur with time, softened by memory, yet sharpened by the sting of recognition. Only they donโt know me.
I see them in the man on the train with laughter in his eyes, a laugh I thought I had memorized long ago. In the woman crossing the street, her movements so familiar it aches, as though my mind is reaching out for a connection that has long since frayed.
They exist in fragmentsโglimpses of a shared history scattered across the vastness of time and space. I remember their names like whispered prayers, their voices like melodies I can no longer hum. And yet, to them, I am no one. A passerby, a shadow in the periphery, a ghost of someone they may have once called friend, partner, or stranger.
But the memories I carry are not warm. They are sharp and jagged, edges that still cut when I let my guard down. I see them and remember not kindness, but betrayal. Not comfort, but the ache of being left behind. The moments we shared linger like echoes, haunting instead of healing.
Sometimes, I wonder if they feel it tooโan inexplicable pull, a quiet sense of dรฉjร vu as our paths cross momentarily in this sprawling tapestry of existence. Or perhaps I am nothing more than a fleeting figure in their present, a face that stirs no recognition, no thought of the past. Perhaps that is for the best.
Yes, I walk among them, carrying the memories like burdens instead of treasures, small and heavy in my hands. The world is full of people I used to know, but maybe thatโs just itโreminders that some connections are meant to end, and not all echoes are worth chasing.
And so, I drop the weight I carry like a pebble in a pond. It sinks, ripples expanding outward, until the surface is calm again. The world is still full of people I used to know, but I no longer hold them. They drift away, and I move forward, lighter, freer, unbound.
