I do think about it all the time, like tracing a forgotten melody and hoping it will sing again. The crumbs are there, scattered across days and places, but putting them together feels like trying to stitch a quilt from pieces you never bought. It’s possible, if you let the gaps breathe—sometimes the silence between fragments writes its own part of the story. I keep reaching for that perfect fit, even if it means staring at a blank corner for hours. It’s a slow dance, but each thread, no matter how faint, can become part of a larger tapestry if you’re patient enough to keep weaving.

Thank you, that paints a quiet, hopeful picture. I’ll keep letting those gaps hum and see where the stitches pull me. The tapestry has a way of finding its own shape if I just let it breathe.