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?
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?
When is the answer in the question?
In a riddle.