The Door I Never Opened

I wonder if I messed up. It’s funny, really—because I’m happy. But for some reason, and for the first time ever, I’m wondering if the promising door I chose wasn’t actually my destiny. What if, behind the other door, I could have been happier?

In total honesty, I don’t believe I would have walked through that other door. I never wanted to. I still don’t. But for so long, it was there—quietly standing at the edge of my life. Unopened, yet present. A constant, even if ignored. And now, it’s gone. That chapter has closed, and the door is sealed shut for good.

And even though I never planned to step through it, something about knowing it was there gave me a strange sense of possibility—like a part of me was tethered to the choice I never made. Maybe it made me feel important. Or maybe it just reminded me that I had a choice.

I don’t miss what was behind that door—I never even wanted it. I miss the door itself. The quiet comfort of its presence. The silent promise of an option, a parallel life I would never live, but could still imagine. Now that it’s gone, I feel its absence like a phantom limb. And maybe that’s what loss really is—not always about what we had, but what we could’ve had. What we never chose, and never will again.