Would it be safe to say that
the dreams that we hold are nothing but
little raindrops.
Raindrops that can’t even be held
by the fabric of our skin, and maybe that’s okay.
Because maybe
we weren’t created to follow a dream,
simply for the mere pleasure
of conserving the ability to see rainbows out of the corner of our eyes.

What if to live meant a little less of holding our own breath,
and a lot more of thanking the shoe laces that reminded
our lungs what it is to run out of breaths.

To meet the necessity of laughter with giving:
and giving a window for dreams to make their escape.
Where beauty grows in the land of abandonment
and friendship becomes the sigh after the storming of cynicism.

To hold dreams within open hands
and open our eyes before the nothing we can do
And watch the children smile.

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