My Dream Keeps Arriving Late

Dear Delyara, After the children. After the work. After the emails. After the money thoughts. After the laundry. After the shopping. After the house has taken what it wants. After I am already too tired to build anything properly. That is when the dream comes. The desire for more. For something of my own. For work that feels more alive. For a life less narrowed by maintenance. But by then I have so little left. That may be the cruelest part. Not that I don’t dream. That the dream keeps arriving to a version of me too depleted to hold it well.