We all have a moment. A sentence we wish we hadn’t said. A hand we didn’t hold. A door we didn’t open — or close. And still, we carry it. Not just the memory, but the weight of it. We whisper “If only…” as if the past could hear us. As if rewinding would rewrite us. But what if the past isn’t meant to be edited — only understood? What if regret isn’t a punishment, but a compass? What would you...
If I could go back… now what would I do differently?
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