I once tried to go back to something I had left unattended for far too long. At the time, I told myself life was just too busy. I thought it could wait. I assumed that when I was finally ready, it would still be there. But when I turned around and reached for it, I found nothing. What once felt familiar had vanished. The silence was loud. The absence was final.
It was more than a forgotten friendship or a neglected dream. It was a piece of my life that had once brought me joy, comfort, and meaning. A part of me I thought I could always come back to. But it had moved on. Quietly. Without noise. Without warning. And I was left staring at a space that used to be full, now empty.
That moment did not come with shouting or closure. It came with a slow ache that settled deep inside. The ache of what could have been. The ache of what I should have held on to. I kept replaying it in my head. What if I had acted sooner? What if I had not taken it for granted? What if I had just made time?
It hurts to know you were the one who walked away too long. Not out of malice, but out of misplaced priorities. It hurts to know that sometimes, things do not wait. People do not wait. Dreams do not wait.
And when you finally realize what you lost, all you can whisper to yourself is the truth you avoided for so long.
The ship had since sailed.
It happens more than we like to admit. In fact, most of us carry at least one quiet regret that we don’t talk about. Sometimes we brush it off, pretending it didn’t matter. But deep down, we know it did. We just never had the words. Or the courage. Or the right timing.
Sometimes, it is love. You loved someone, but you never said it. Or maybe you did, but you said it once and never followed through. You assumed they knew. You thought they would wait. So you postponed the effort. You told yourself, “I’ll call tomorrow,” or “I’ll be better next week.” But time, as always, kept moving. And while you were caught up in your own delays, they slowly drifted away.
One day, you look again and they are no longer yours to love. Someone else noticed what you overlooked. Someone else gave what you kept promising to give but never did. Or maybe it wasn’t even someone else. Maybe they just got tired. Tired of feeling second. Tired of asking for your time. Tired of waiting for you to choose them the way they chose you.
You try to reach out, but the distance is no longer about space. It is emotional. It is the kind of gap that no words can close. Their heart has already left the room. And that silence between you carries the weight of everything you never said, never did, never showed.
It is a sharp kind of pain. The pain of loving someone who finally stopped waiting. The pain of knowing they didn’t leave in anger. They left in quiet acceptance. Because even love, when neglected long enough, finds its way out.
And just like that, you are left watching what could have been drift into what will never be.
That ship has sailed.
Sometimes it is a dream. A quiet one that used to live in your heart and light up your imagination. You wanted to be something. Do something. Create something that mattered. You pictured it often. You even made little notes about it. But you kept saying, “Not now.” You told yourself next month, or next year, or when things calm down.
But life rarely calms down.
Before you knew it, your hands were full. Bills had to be paid. Work had to be done. Family needed you. Responsibilities came knocking, one after the other, and you kept answering. Slowly, your dream started slipping into the background. Not because you gave up, but because you got caught up in the business of surviving.
And now? You are older. You are tired. You carry so much on your shoulders that the idea of starting again feels heavy. You scroll past people who are living the life you once imagined for yourself, and it stings a little. Not because you envy them, but because you see a version of yourself that never got the chance to bloom.
You wonder if you still have that fire in you. But the truth is, you gave that fire to everything else. To bills. To people. To emergencies. To expectations. And now, you look back and realize your best energy was used just trying to stay afloat.
You chased stability and sacrificed passion. You chose security and left purpose waiting.
And maybe now, it feels too late. Not because the dream is impossible, but because you have changed. You are not the same person who once believed. Life has shaped you differently.
And that dream? It feels like a faraway place you used to visit in your mind, but the road there is blurry now.
That ship has sailed.
Other times, it is family. The people we assume will always be there. We take comfort in their presence, even when we do not show up the way we should. We tell ourselves, “We’ll talk later,” or “They know how I feel.” We expect forgiveness to come automatically and assume time will fix everything without effort.
You think you have forever to fix what’s broken. You think your parents will always be one phone call away. You believe your siblings will always get you, even when you grow distant. So you let misunderstandings linger. You leave apologies unspoken. You avoid hard conversations. You let pride win. You wait too long to say, “I love you” or “I’m sorry” or “Thank you.”
Then something happens.
A late-night phone call. A quiet hospital room. A funeral you never expected. And in that moment, everything you meant to say starts echoing in your mind. You try to piece together the last words you shared, hoping they were kind. But sometimes, they were not. And sometimes, there were no last words at all.
Now you sit with the ache of unsaid things. You whisper them into the silence, hoping somehow they reach beyond. But silence never answers back. It just sits with you.
There is nothing quite like the grief of knowing you had the chance to love someone better and didn’t take it. Not because you didn’t care, but because you thought there would be more time.
You learn too late that time is not always generous. And family, no matter how constant they seem, can leave without warning.
That ship has sailed.
Some people lose their health this way. Bit by bit. Quietly. Slowly. Almost without noticing. They ignore the signs because life feels too busy to pause. They push through the headaches, the fatigue, the chest pains. They keep saying, “I’ll rest soon,” or “I’ll take care of myself after this deadline.”
They run on coffee, little sleep, and constant stress. They miss meals or eat whatever is fast, not what is nourishing. They postpone check-ups. They silence their bodies with painkillers and keep moving. The body whispers, but they do not listen.
Then one day, the whisper turns into a scream.
Suddenly, their body no longer cooperates. The strength they once relied on begins to fail them. They wake up and realize they cannot do what they used to do without pain, without medication, without a doctor’s approval. And all the things they once planned to do the trips, the projects, the late nights, the bucket list, are now filtered through medical appointments and physical limits.
It hurts more when you know it could have been prevented. When you remember all the times you promised yourself you would take it seriously. When you realize you sacrificed your health trying to keep everything else alive; work, family, finances, expectations, except yourself.
Regret becomes the pill you have to swallow every day. And the rest you once thought you could delay becomes the only thing your body demands now.
That ship has sailed.
Some people lose themselves entirely. Not all at once, and not because they stopped trying. But because life kept taking little pieces of them along the way. Sometimes it came through heartbreak. Sometimes through failure. Other times through the heavy burden of always showing up for everyone else while no one showed up for them.
They kept going. They kept giving. They kept smiling, even when they felt empty. They put their needs aside, thinking it was the right thing to do. They sacrificed their dreams, postponed their healing, swallowed their pain, and told themselves they were just being strong.
But strength, when stretched too far, starts to look like silence. It starts to look like a person who no longer complains because they no longer hope for change.
Then one morning, they wake up and do not recognize who they have become. Not because they are older. Not because life has changed their appearance. But because something inside has gone quiet. The light. The fire. The passion. The curiosity. All faded.
They look in the mirror and see a face they know but cannot feel. The joy they used to carry has turned into routine. The voice that used to dream has gone quiet. They are still here, but not fully. Not freely. Not joyfully. They have disappeared in plain sight.
And the saddest part is that nobody noticed. Not even them. Not until it was too late.
That ship has sailed.
And the worst part? It rarely happens in one big, dramatic moment. Loss, more often than not, comes quietly. It slips in through the cracks of daily life while we are busy, distracted, or simply unaware.
It looks like a message you meant to reply to but never did. Just one. Then another. And another. Until the conversation fades and the connection is gone.
It is a visit you kept postponing. “Next week,” you said. Then next month. Then not at all.
It is a passion you buried under piles of stress and schedules. Something that once lit you up, now collecting dust while you chase things that drain you.
It is a hug you missed because you were in a rush. A smile you didn’t return because you were lost in thought. A “thank you” you assumed they already knew. A “sorry” you let your pride silence. A “please don’t go” that trembled on your lips but never made it out.
These small things pile up. Quietly. Gently. Until one day, you wake up and realize something is missing. A person. A feeling. A version of you. And you cannot quite explain when or how it happened.
It is a slow fade. A soft unraveling. And when you finally stop to look around, what you thought you could return to has already moved on. You reach for what once felt close, only to find it out of reach.
Because some things do not wait forever. Some people don’t either. Some moments will never come back the way they were.
And no, not every ship can be chased. Not every person will return just because you finally noticed their absence. Not every dream can be restarted from the same place, with the same heart.
That is the truth. A hard one. But a real one.
So what now?
You pause. You sit with the weight of what is gone. And then you look around and begin to ask yourself the real questions.
What is still within reach?
What can still be saved?
Who can I still call today, not tomorrow?
What conversation can I finally have?
What part of me can I still fight for before I fade any further?
Because yes, some ships have sailed. Some chapters are closed. Some apologies will never be heard, and some dreams may never unfold the way you once imagined. But not everything is lost.
As much as we carry regret, there is still something left to hold onto. A relationship that can still be mended. A dream that can still be shaped into something new. A version of you that still remembers how to hope.
There is still a message you can send.
A meal you can share.
A passion you can revive.
A laugh you can choose to feel.
A “thank you” you can give.
A “I miss you” you can say.
A “let’s start again” you can offer.
The past may not come back. But today is still here. And it is not too late to care, to act, to rebuild, to love again.
You do not have to chase every ship that sailed. Just make sure you do not miss the one that is still at the shore, waiting for you to step on.
So, what will you do with what is still in front of you?
Some ships may have sailed, yes. But not all.
Some are still there, gently waiting at the shore. Waiting for you to show up. Not with everything figured out, but simply with the decision to try again. To take one step toward healing, toward effort, toward change.
Some hearts are still open. They have not shut you out. They are quietly hoping you will reach out. That you will say something. Anything. That you will show them you still care.
Some dreams are still alive. They may be buried beneath fear, delay, or exhaustion, but they are not gone. They are waiting for you to remember why they mattered in the first place.
Some relationships are not shattered. They are only bruised. A little love, a little humility, and a real conversation might be enough to begin again.
Some opportunities are not lost forever. They have just been waiting for you to stop doubting yourself. To stop procrastinating. To believe that maybe it is not too late.
And you? You might feel drained. Disappointed. You might think you missed your moment. But deep down, you are not done. You are still here. Still breathing. Still capable of something beautiful.
There is time. Not endless time, but enough. Enough to forgive. Enough to rebuild. Enough to restart. Enough to reconnect.
So while some ships have indeed sailed, others are still waiting. Quietly. Patiently. Right in front of you.
The question is, will you show up before they leave too?
So here is my question to you.
What are you still pretending you have time for? Is it a dream you have shelved for “someday,” without realizing that someday keeps getting pushed further away?
Who are you still waiting to forgive, as if holding on to the pain will somehow change what happened?
What goal or calling have you convinced yourself is no longer possible, when deep down, you still long for it?
And what person have you convinced yourself no longer cares, when in truth, they are simply waiting for a sign from you, a message, a word, a gesture?
Not everything has to be lost.
Not everything has to end with regret.
Sometimes we just need to take the first step.
We need to speak, even if our voice shakes.
We need to apologize, even if time has passed.
We need to try again, even if we have failed before.
We need to start small, even if the big picture feels overwhelming.
We need to be honest, especially with ourselves.
We need to ask for help, without shame.
And we need to take the risk, because what if it actually works?
Because even though some ships have truly sailed, not all of them have. Some are still waiting. Some are still tied at the dock, unmoved, hoping you will notice them before they, too, drift away. Some chances are still alive. Some people are still open. Some doors are still unlocked.
And even if your ship is completely gone, even if you missed it entirely, maybe now is the time to build a new one.
Maybe this is not about going back to what you once had.
Maybe it is about starting from where you are, with what you have, and who you are becoming.
Maybe it is time to stop staring into the distance, hoping something returns.
Maybe it is time to start swimming again, even if it is slowly.
Maybe it is time to stop mourning what could have been, and start living what still can be.
So take a moment and really look at your life.
Is there someone you should call today, not tomorrow?
Is there a message you need to send before the silence becomes permanent?
Is there a version of you that still deserves another chance, one you buried under fear or failure?
Is there someone you love, who may not even know how deeply you care?
Please do not wait until it is too late.
Do not wait for regret to teach you what love could have shown you earlier.
Do not let your silence become someone else’s closure.
Do not let pride or fear keep you from making things right.
Because one day, without any warning, you will realize that the last time was the last time.
The last hug you ever gave them.
The last walk you ever took together.
The last real laugh you shared.
The last chance you had to make things right.
And when that moment comes, it will not announce itself with thunder.
It will come quietly.
And the silence it leaves behind will be louder than anything you could have imagined.
It will speak the words you never said.
It will echo the love you never showed.
It will carry the weight of everything you hoped to fix, but never did.
So I ask you again, with all the gentleness in my heart.
What will you do now?
Because yes, .
But you are still here.
And that means something.
That means there is still time.
Maybe not time for everything.
But definitely time for something.
What is that something for you?
Whatever it is, do it now.
Say it now.
Live it now.
Before it becomes another ship you only watch sail away.
By Victor Raul Puobabangna Plance from Eggu in the Upper West Region
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