This is for the dreams that you had when you laid eyes on the boy two doors down when you were eleven. This is for the dreams you had that night you wondered what it would be like to hold her hand when you were twelve. This is for the dreams you had when you first read the story about the painter who paints a leaf on his dying friend’s window as his last gift to the world. This is for the dreams you had that one day you would find a golden ticket inside a chocolate bar. This is for the dreams your parents had when they promised the rest of their lives to each other, then again when they thought of your name. This is for the dreams you had broken over and over again, only to get back up each time. For the people who were there with you. This is for the dreams you had on your first plane ride, and seeing that the adults were wrong, the clouds are not just water. This is for the dreams you had on Christmas Eve, and how you tried to stay up as late as you could to catch a glimpse of Santa’s leg coming down the chimney.
Keep dreaming as if those days were yesterday. Our world is slowly falling apart, but our last dreams will be way before that ever happens. Some people say your life is measured by the mark you leave behind. This is for the dreamers who can look them in the eye, and say our dreams, those crazy dreams, are our last gift to this world.