Dreams are not soft things.
They have edges — sharp enough to cut,
corners where fear hides,
and curves that bend like hope.
Some dreams are circles —
endless, looping,
spinning you in want until you’re dizzy.
Some are stars —
burning too bright,
too far,
but still you reach.
And some…
some are just shadows —
the shape of what you lost,
what you almost had,
what slipped through your hands like smoke.
But the rarest dreams —
they fit in your palms,
pressing their heartbeat to your skin,
shaped like home,
like belonging,
like the thing you never knew you needed…
until it was yours.
English