I miss a place I have never been,

and mourn a life I never lived.

Somewhere, a summer is ending

without me in it.

Someone is laughing in a room

I will never enter.

There are streets beneath an older sky,

still carrying footsteps that were never mine.

I remember the warmth of it,

though my hands have never touched it.

Perhaps that is what makes it hurt—

to feel homesick for a memory

that was never yours to lose.

So I wander through photographs,

through songs from years before my birth,

searching for the shape of a life

that feels strangely familiar.

And somewhere beyond the glass,

the past continues without knowing me.

I do not know what I am remembering.

I only know—

I miss it.