![](https://images.ecency.com/DQmSVWmFGKtGsUrU8F3fSuRgwbvb7QT4ouf3pP1TXGFUu2o/pocket_watch_2031021_1280.jpg)

\*\*Time forgets even what you see with that melancholy we sometimes suffer, when we imagine being there, on another path, with the details that might unfold and the dreams that might blossom.\*\*

Perhaps, in some parallel place, those moments did come true: the laughter that never echoed, the hands that never touched, the words left hanging in the air like ownerless promises. But here, in this fading present, only the trace of what could have been remains: an echo of steps that never moved forward, a map of paths erased by the rain of oblivion.

\*\*The truth is that a past of dreams will only dim a future of promises that no longer taste of glory, even as we’ve pushed forward, ignoring the history of the fierce radiance that inspired it.\*\*

And yet, we still carry those visions like beacons in the fog. Isn’t it cruel to remember a light that was never ours? The weight of what we imagined pulls us backward, while the future is built on foundations of shadow. Perhaps the real tragedy isn’t that time steals our moments, but that it forces us to live between two tides: that which never was and that which can no longer be.

Still, in some hidden corner of the soul, we keep feeding that glow, as if—against all reason—we still hope for what was lost to find its way back.

\-------

\- Tanslation to English in \[Google\]( [https://translate.google.com/?hl=es](https://translate.google.com/?hl=es))

\- Imagen de \[Pixabay\]([https://pixabay.com/photos/pocket-watch-clock-time](https://pixabay.com/photos/pocket-watch-clock-time)

\-old-2031021/)