The dream swells to fill the room, then blurs at the exact second you reach to name the one detail that matters. Jupiter squares Neptune, and the vision that wants to span keeps shearing against a fog that refuses an outline. Get excited and you dissolve. Try to pin it down and it deflates. The bill came in projects you pitched with total conviction and later could not explain even to yourself. Out of the friction came a habit: anchor the dream with something you can touch, a date, a name, a table to sit at. Vision with nothing under it evaporates. Now you put feet beneath every sky you promise.
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