You live days when you feel your dreams won’t jostle their way free to soar, and it hurts because you remember when they were round and shiny in your hand, and you thought all things possible. And they had wings and flowy strings.

Now the blue sky beyond them teases like a maybe promise.

You see the bumper sticker “Remember Who You Wanted to Be,” and it makes you feel sick and hopeful at once.

You wonder how far you are from that person and ask yourself if who you wanted to be then is who you still want to become.

Maybe you’re becoming something better, different.

Becoming happens while you’re not looking, and it happens when you try and when you let go, and the Imaginary You that Young You dreamed of knew nothing about the myriad small cracks that would break your heart to fill.

Young You knew nothing of the twists and turns these dreams would take — the ways they’d be cast to the ground and crushed into a fine powder, mixed with something like grace that is making them new.

Sometimes you don’t recognize your dreams anymore, surrounded as you are by partially mixed concoctions and half-spoiled batches, and so you think they’ll never make it, or that you won’t. That they’re stuck, rotten, dead.

But Youngest You knew something that Now You is remembering, relearning:

This sky opening up to cast its warm glow of hope, it is daily miracle.

You live another day.

And your dreams, too.

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