Dreams seem like the most delicate thing on this planet, like the
petals of the most delicate flower you can imagine. And like the
most delicate flower you can imagine, they can be crushed and can
wilt from the slightest harsh contact with external influences.
I don’t know why they’re made like this, all I can guess is that
it’s so we learn how to care for something so vulnerable and
nurture it until it’s grown strong. Letting your dreams die seems
like letting something inside of you die…it feels like that