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Dreams That Fit Between Walls
She slipped her hand into mine as we walked toward the porch. That simple gesture said everything.
My dream was quieter. I imagined string lights in the backyard, the scent of barbecue drifting through summer air. I saw the garage becoming a workshop again—sawdust, sandpaper, and the hum of something familiar. A return to the craft that once grounded me.
We weren’t just measuring square footage. We were measuring possibility.
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