I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I'm sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many, or just one. What am I?
What can be stolen, mistaken, or altered, yet never leaves you your entire life?
I can bring you joy or sorrow, or everything in between. None have seen, smelt or felt me, yet many still know what I am. I have many types, but I am really just one thing. What am I?
The tallest trees fall, at my glorious call, some may resist, but only for so long. What am I?
When is the answer in the question?
In a riddle.
I can be anything I want to be, yet known to many as just one, but if things don't work out, I will be known by hardly anyone. What am I?