Some dreams are too big to stay in small places. One fits better in a bigger city, carrying dreams — weighty and promising — on their shoulders. But they say: just because you fit doesn’t mean you belong.
And then comes the moment. Some small places become spacious enough to hold you — broken, as if breaking were only another way of becoming: stitched where you were too thin and torn, hardened where you were too soft.
Wordless and fragile. Incomplete and happy.
