"When I was a girl, they told me to be practical, and I was a dreamer. There was no misgiving, the flames of crescent dreams always coming higher, licking at the bedroom windows, kindling in my soul, a smoldering fire. And down, down burned the house of doubt, the place of skepticism, realism, lost to the fire.
Faith replaces fear, the way spring replaces winter, and winter, fall. The eye cannot see, what credence promises.
Dreamers dream, and we see, not black and white, but vivacious, living colors. We see potential, promise. We are secret keepers of hope, gingerly settling a forgotten faith in the slip between the heart and the faint of our breastbone.
We are skies without end, wild horses without reins. We are your sister, your brother, your neighbor. We are the bumbling man in the corner store, the forsaken beggar in the street, we are the woman on the mosque steps, her figure formless beneath her hijab. We are in regions of terror, in sprawling forests, in city brownstones, in unbroken fields, where grass stands above summer skinned knees. We are shapeshifters. We are here, and we are there.
We walk through the fire, the arson of unbelievers, scorching skin, but never our souls, and with dreams that are kindred to the wings of a phoenix bird, we rise out of ashes. We propel the human race forward.
And we go on, because the future is ours, and we are not afraid. We go on, because we believe in a better day.
When I was a girl, they told me to be practical...
I chose to be a dreamer. "
Photo and poem via - Girl Meets NYC
'
