A few minutes, that’s all it took for things to change. At first, I didn’t even realize it. Just a small crack, but once it started, everything began to fall apart. Hope is slipping away, almost gone now. But there’s still something left, and I can feel it more clearly now. It’s raw, and it’s the only thing holding on.
Stepping back from it all feels strange. I’ve been so caught up in it, chasing this vision. Now, from a distance, it looks different. I don’t see it anymore, not the way I used to. The images I held onto are fading. But I still feel it. Not in my head, but deep inside.
It’s a quiet feeling, like a dull ache in my chest. Maybe it was never about what I could see. Maybe it’s just the feeling that stays when the dream starts to fall apart—the one thing that won’t leave, no matter how far away I stand.
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