Unfinished

By Asmi Mahajan

Almost there, but never quite.
Bridges half-built, doors left ajar.
Chapters cut mid-sentence, ink drying before the thought is done.
Dreams linger in rooms we never enter.

Echoes of footfalls that never met the threshold,
Fingers poised over piano keys, a song unheard.
Ghosts do not haunt, they hover—
Holding space for what remains undone.

If only, if only—your favorite refrain,
Just beyond reach, the world moves on.
Knots in time where you should have been
Loosen, unravel, drift into air.

Maybe not all endings must be written.
Not every silence is empty.
Open spaces are not voids, but invitations.
Pages left blank are still part of the story.

Quiet hums beneath the unsaid.
Remembering is its own kind of rewriting.
Shadowed outlines of choices untaken
Trace the beauty of what remains.

Unfinished things are not lost, only waiting.
Veiled in wonder, they breathe in the pause.
We are not meant to complete everything.
X marks the places where life lingers.

You were almost here, and that is enough.
Zero does not mean empty—it only means open.

Asmi is a young writer from India. She finds reading and writing deeply cathartic. She spends her free time café-hopping, journaling and indulging in coffee and matcha.