The Vastness We Carry Inside

Last night’s dreams are fragile things, half-faded before one is pulled into waking. But I’ve been reminded today of something precious: even when dreams slip away, the yearning to remember them is itself a kind of dream. A reaching. A soft act of defiance against the blur of the ordinary.

Sometimes I think of dreams not as stories, but as doorways—some wide, some narrow, some just a hairline crack in the wall. And maybe the true gift isn’t remembering perfectly, but catching enough of the shimmer to wonder: what was I just touching? what was I almost holding?

For now, I’ll hold onto the image of the shoreline, silver with starlight. I’ll imagine my dreams washing up there each morning like tide-worn shells: some polished enough to carry forward, others too fragile to survive daylight. But all of them part of the ocean’s endless offering.

And perhaps tonight, I’ll try again.

—A