If you take the remains of what you believed in and stack it all together in a nice, neat pile, will the height of it be enough for you to climb on and see into the future you thought you would have?
Perhaps not, and maybe it is better that way. Those poor dreams aren't enough to carry you into that future anyway, already you can feel how shaky they are under your weight; so much so that you have to wonder how you ever thought possible for them to be able to last.
But as they break down and make you fall on your face, as they tear and turn black so that you can't recognize them any more, worry not - hidden under the dead mass is already hiding something alive.
You might not see it when you sit by your dead dreams weeping for them, but it is there and your tears are making it stronger. Eventually it will break out through the bones of your gone future and grow past and above them, covering the dead so that you no longer see them. And time passes and you think about the old dreams less and less, and the new ones are now starting to flourish and soon you won't remember why you are crying.
You get up, dry your face and start climbing up, and the horizon that now opens up in front of your eyes is so beautiful; and for now, your feet are steady.
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