Could my dreams die? They could. My mind, once as pure as water from my faucet. Now cloudy, as if my eyes blurred from crying. My thoughts are an endless swirl of emotion. Am I getting too skinny? Is my hair really falling out? S H E ' S I N M Y D R E A M S. Ā̵̢̜̀̇̇̿̈͐̊̕͝ñ̵̨͎̤̳͍̟̒̒̈̓͋̑̎̉̌̊̐̕͝͠d̷̨̢̢̙̠̜̦͍̬̳͓̪̓͐̃̂͋͂͊́́̀͐̌͝͝͝ͅͅ ̴̧̛͕̳̺̟̯̳͎̗̠̦͓̝̀̈́̓̾̒̕͜ͅs̷̨͍̱̬͈̖͕̟̋͂̇̀͒̈̀̔̃̎̌̕̚h̷̲̼̖̔̈́̒ë̴̡̛̪̺̖̪̮̣̞͈́̿͗͒͆͆̃̈́̇̑̈́͘͝ͅ ̷̢͓͎̟͙͖̥̋̄͛͊̀͐̅̿̔̑͊̿̕͠w̴̦̜̖͗͋̑̉̈́ͅơ̵̫͖̹̦͙̜̻̪̆͊͋̾̈́̓͐͊͂̓͜͠ņ̷̳̪͙̦̞͕̳͉̂̉̈́̈́̉̎̅͗̀̄͊͘͠͠'̷̺̘͖̥̜̗͚̳̄́̆͗̇̔͂͂͗̚͝ͅt̸̡̧̧̲̥̭̗̯̖̒͛̏͗ͅ ̶̡̟̘̺͔͙̭̄̉̅̚͜l̸̩̄͒̌͆͂̂̔́̈́͋͘͝e̴̹̮̠̱͔͉̭̹̒̓̊̄͌͌̋̒̒̈́͝ȁ̷͍̬̣̪͉͎̟̯̽͝v̶̢̛́͊͑̌̀̍̅͗̃͒̅̋̕e̷͓̤̦̬̱̩̺͔̫̺̝̿͜