That loss that you experience from the moment you are born. You are born a girl, your loss is you don’t know what it means to be a boy. You are born rich, your loss is you don’t know how the poor lives. Your loss is not knowing so much of reality that exists in the world.
The books that you will never be able to read and the places that you will never be able to see. All those wonderful people you are distanced from due to language or miles. All these obscure sorrows plague you and yet you move in life as if you own the world. As if you are going to live forever.
You are withering, every hour, every minute, every second, unaware of what is approaching and careless about it. All you think of death is like the thoughts of a distant cousin sitting in another land whom you haven’t met or spoken to… ever. You don’t think of old age which is creeping in your limbs without giving you any sign.
Time, the most powerful. It grows on you. You grow with it. Past is nothing but a painting which you consider you have finished but the truth is different. It is abandoned. It looks different everytime you see it. Look back into a memory which you thought would kill you, did it? Look back to a moment, a big achievement which you thought were your biggest. Does it seems so now? Has it changed? It is the same past. It is the same painting; the same indelible strokes; and yet it all feels different.
Time is the healer. It subtles your losses, calms your burns, and even smudges your sorrows. Those obscure sorrows, those nameless ones, which you feel, which you know but cannot define. Befriend Time. Befriend your losses. Befriend those obscure sorrows. Life is limited. Live on. It will see all of you but you!
You will never have enough of it to see all of it. You are not an expert, never can be. You are just a passerby. So while you pass, paint it into a good incomplete painting. And may be someday the world will call it a masterpiece.