It lingered. Like the last note of a song that refuses to fade.

The same could be said of friends too.

We often live with this illusion that relationships, whether with our children or our closest friends, are “ours.” That we have a say in how they think, feel, or evolve. But over time, life has a way of humbling that belief.

Because children, like friends, are not possessions. They are borrowed chapters in our story — written in someone else’s ink.

There was a time I thought friendship meant forever. The kind where you could pick up the phone at 2 a.m., rant, cry, or laugh without filters. But slowly, you realise people shift, not always away from you, but sometimes into themselves.
Their paths bend differently. Their silences grow longer.
And that’s okay.
They’re not meant to orbit you forever.

The same happens with our children.
They start by clutching your hand, needing your every word of assurance. Then one day, they pull their hand away…politely, lovingly … and walk ahead. You’re left standing, realising they’ve become their own person.

It’s beautiful, and heartbreaking, all at once.

Maybe that’s the real essence of maturity, to love without ownership.
To cheer without controlling.
To stand close enough to care, yet far enough to let them breathe.

Because at some point, you stop expecting people, children, friends, even partners, to belong.
You just start valuing their presence while it lasts.

And when they drift, you smile quietly, knowing that’s how it was always meant to be.