Potential... lost.

 Potential.
Such a beautiful concept. Such a deadly word.
Potential of all the things we will never accomplish, but we could have, you know?
Potential cut short.
By an accident. A blood clot. An aneurysm. Cancer. Murder.
Suddenly, all that potential vanishes from this world, never to return.
And we, the survivors, the sacred carriers of that memory, are left holding the shattered pieces of what could have been.
We’ll never know the potential of their tomorrow. We’ll never see what they would have contributed toward today.
As I feel this pinching pain in my chest, I reflect on these, gone too soon. And I lament their passing. Not just for them and their loss of tomorrow, but in all of the new memories I myself was robbed of by losing them.
It’s selfish. I know. And for this moment, I want to be selfish, and angry, and broken. I want to cry for me, and my loss in never having them back again. Never hearing them laugh, never having them call, never feeling that warmth in my heart at opening a door to reveal them smiling to see me.
And I know they wouldn’t want me dwelling in sadness. But it does them good knowing I still care this much, even years later. And I do. I miss you. I want to hug you, and feel the endorphins run through my brain at having you near.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
That potential has been forever taken, never to return.
And like staring down a winding path in the forest, the snowflakes falling in their slow and silent dance, I realize that the potential lies within me.
Perhaps never to be great, but to be good.
To care. To laugh. To share. To spend time. To reflect. To create. To hope.
Potential.
It’s such a beautiful concept. It’s such a deadly word.
Share with me someone who’s potential you miss.
Share with yourself some good you can do with the potential that’s been passed on to you.