Yesterday, I had a routine visit to the doctor. After the examination ended, I decided to walk home—nearly an hour of quiet walking. I moved slowly, trying to clear my mind and enjoy the cold air, which seemed to refresh my thoughts more than my body.As I walked, a café caught my eye at the beginning of the street, with a pizzeria right beside it. I paused for a moment, wondering which one to enter. It was 12:30 in the afternoon. After a brief hesitation, I chose the pizzeria and ordered a slice of pizza.I sat alone at a table. It was the first time I had ever gone out to eat pizza by myself. Usually, I am accompanied by a friend, my sister, or someone close—no one in particular, just someone. But this time was different… and I did not like it.I suddenly realized that ordinary moments only become enjoyable when they are shared. When lived alone, they pass like any other fleeting moment. Even the taste of the pizza I once loved felt ordinary, perhaps even routine. Not because it had changed, but because I had no one to share the feeling with. I was used to savoring every flavor, commenting on it, expressing my thoughts, laughing, and chatting. There was something beautifully chaotic about it.Yesterday, despite my love for solitude at home, I understood that there are certain moments that truly need a companion to be enjoyable.But from now on, there will be no companion. Everyone has left. Friends have drifted away, life has changed. Even my sister got married, became a mother, and moved to a distant city. Things are no longer the way they used to be, and they are no longer as easy.Only then did I clearly realize that what has passed will never return. And that it was good I enjoyed their company as much as I did, creating beautiful memories with them—without knowing their true value at the time.All places, all seats, all meals have grown pale. They were never what I truly loved. It was the people I shared those moments with who mattered most. They were my favorites, not the things.