Every morning you wake up hungry for something you can't quite name, a gnawing certainty that you were built for more than this.
The dreamer runs through ruins of ambitions not yet built, chasing greatness across a bridge that exists only in the space between wanting and becoming.
We all carry blueprints for empires in our chest. Sketches of the monuments we'll build, the legacies we'll leave, the moment when the world finally sees what we always knew we could become. The vines grow through our plans even as we draw them, time already claiming what we haven't yet created, but still we run. Still we build.
daniel100
