One story at a time

How strange, to mourn what was never mine.  to feel the weight of empty hands,  as if I'd been robbed - when all I held,  was the shadow of a thing passing through. How strange,  When you left,  I told myself I had nothing to lose. Yet the ache proved me wrong.  Because even a borrowed love, it still felt real. I had no right to grieve, Yet I did. Because even if you belonged to someone else, the pieces of you I carried,  were enough to shatter me.