And so, comfort stayed—simple, steady, and easy to overlook. It didn't try to change people. It didn't tell them what to do. It just stayed close enough to make life feel a little less heavy.
It appeared in more ordinary moments:
In the way someone finally sat down without feeling guilty about being tired.
In the way a warm drink felt good in someone's hands after a long day.
In the soft weight of a pet resting beside someone who felt lonely.
In a short message from a friend that simply said, "I'm here," without asking anything.
Comfort didn't solve problems.
But it made those problems easier to face.
The Dreamer watched quietly, noticing how people leaned into these small moments without even realizing it. They didn't need permission. They just needed reminders that it was okay to slow down.
Fate didn't push.
Hope didn't hurry.
Comfort didn't hide.
They simply existed around people like calm air—steady and supportive.
And in this calmness:
