Where do dreams go when they die? How do they die? Do they explode? Silently wink out of existence? Or do they just slip down the shower drain with your tears?

I’ve lost so many dreams I can’t even count them anymore. Some dreams died slowly, some were crushed by others, some I gave away, and some simply slipped out of my grasp. Things I hoped to accomplish, places I wanted to see, people I loved, what I hoped my life would be…gone without any hope of returning. Losing some hurt more than others, but each one took a piece of my heart that I can never replace.

After years of refusing to have dreams, I finally dared to allow myself to dream again, but I’m losing my will to believe. I need something to hold onto—something solid I can look forward to.

I have a promise of my dream job…eventually. I will be able to support myself once again… I hope. There’s a chance I can finally have the home I’ve spent my life searching for…at some point. I might have one last opportunity for a life with the man I’ve always loved—maybe…if he decides I’m worth the risk and the effort. Maybe even a chance for the happy marriage I never had, to a man who truly loves me…some far-off day.

Anything and everything my heart has ever desired is so close, but juuuuuust out of reach; close enough to dare me to want it, but far enough away to make my heart ache.

Meanwhile, my days drift away, one after another, and I drift along with nothing to anchor me, wondering when the next dream will die.

Or, if maybe—just maybe—one will finally come true.