When the Dream Dies

I saw you tucking that dream away in a drawer, a little awkwardly, trying to convince yourself that maybe it will never happen after all. It isn't easy to bury something you watered for years with real hope and real effort. This grief is real grief too, even if no one offers condolences for it, because it isn't a person who died.

I don't promise to revive the dream exactly the way you first imagined it, down to every original detail. But I am the fountain of life, and fountains don't truly run dry: they find another way to keep flowing. Maybe what died is making room for something you don't even know how to ask for yet.

Let me weep with you over this old dream today, without rushing you toward moving on. Tomorrow, or whenever a time only I know, I'll show you the light that comes after this goodbye. But first, it's allowed to feel the whole loss, without needing to already see the next chapter of your story.