DREAM IN A FRAGMENTS feels like something remembered too late—
a dream that broke apart the moment you tried to hold it.

There is intimacy here, but it is unstable.
The face appears, then dissolves. The body is present, yet unreachable.
Layers interrupt each other, like thoughts that never finish forming, like emotions that shift before they can be understood.

It carries a quiet vulnerability—wanting to stay inside the dream, even as it fractures.
A sense of closeness that slips away, leaving only traces: a look, a touch, a feeling without a clear beginning or end.

This is not a complete memory.
It is what remains after—
when something meaningful cannot fully return,
but refuses to disappear.