In the hushed corridors of what-ifs,
We measured the walls with absent hands,
We traced outlines of a life in empty air—
A future we drew but never lived.
Sunlight dances upon the tiled floors,
Where laughter nearly spilled.
Curtains stayed shy, never drawn wide—
Hiding the mornings we never had.
Warm coffee brewed for one,
A table still set for two,
Dreams folded in the linen drawers,
Unlived, but achingly true.
Windowpanes and phantom frames,
A shadow of what could have been,
We haunted rooms that never grew,
In apartments we never moved into.
So here’s to the keys we never turned,
The doors that stayed unopened.
To the love that lived in past tense,
And the home we never made.
