I see beyond the horizon: hopes, dreams, optimistic forecasts, and exaggeratedly inflated possibilities.

And for all that, I build. Each stone set, day by day, rain or shine. I let people know my mind is alive, buzzing with plans, crafting variations of the perfect setup.

People with little hope or no vision gather, drawn by the light of these dreams. Together, we share the thrill of creation, of daring to imagine something greater.

But reality strikes. It clips wings, washes away fragile constructions, and cuts deep through misfortune, indifference, or opposing interests. The scene empties. The spotlight shifts to my failure.

Demons charge in those moments. They whisper doubt, guilt, and the temptation to abandon everything. To shrink from myself, to distance from others.

Yet I’ve learned: reality is not the enemy. It clears what’s weak, testing what’s worthy of enduring. The dream isn’t meant to be forgotten but rebuilt—stronger.

From the wind, I learn to bend. From the dirt, to endure critique. From the water, to flow around what I cannot change.

The world needs dreamers as much as I need people who believe in dreams. The cards have been arranged since birth.

And here I am, still playing the game.