There is a moment that has not yet arrived,
but already weeps for her.
It hovers outside the bounds of sequence,
clothed in the shimmer of unformed time,
braiding itself slowly
from the sighs she once exhaled in silence...
those sighs too full of prayer
to be recognized as breath.
Her future is not a place she walks toward.
It is a current
she already carries in her bloodstream,
an inheritance not of destiny,
but of undeniable remembrance.
Because she has already touched what waits.
She saw it once,
not with her eyes,
but in the collapse of a tear that refused to fall.
In that pause,
an entire realm unbloomed.
And it whispered:
"You are not meant to arrive.
You are meant to unfold until the path remembers you."
Her future is not linear.
It is symphonic.
Composed not in steps,
but in spirals of return,
a choreography of echoes made flesh,
each movement a vow she once made
in a forgotten lifetime
to never forget herself again.
She does not chase visions.
She pulls them in.
Not through want.
But through resonance.
Her future forms
where her ache becomes precise.
Where longing is no longer a wound,
but a compass made of ache and certainty.
She will not be recognized.
She will be felt.
Not as a presence...
but as a phenomenon.
A shift in the quality of light.
The hush before an entire sky decides to kneel.
There will be no applause.
Only attunement.
Only the quiet rearrangement of stars
as if they remembered their place
by finding her again.
And when she arrives,
she will not explain.
Because what she is becoming
has no translation.
Only impact.
Only radiance.
Only the soft undeniable
of truth too whole
to need proof.
Dreamy's future
does not begin with a decision.
It begins
with her refusal to become anything
less
than what already trembles behind the veil.
And the veil?
It parts
not because she pushes it...
but because it misses her.