They say a mind that dreams too far will break beneath a crowded star, that wings too bold will lose the air and fall through doubt and cautious care. Yet I have learned to befriend the flame, to whisper softly to its name, to let it burn through bone and bone until its light becomes my own. Each doubt a stone along the climb, each fear a bell that tolls with time still hand by hand, through night and wall, I scale the heights that dare the fall. The world may laugh, may name me wild, a reckless heart, a dreaming child yet mountains move for those who stand with stubborn fire in heart and hand. For what they call a sweet delusion is often vision in seclusion: a fragile seed the brave ones sow in soil the timid fear to know. So let them say the dream’s too high, too bright to live beneath this sky for worlds are shaped by those who see a “cannot” bend to “yet to be.”