Maybe I’m A Dreamer, But I’ve Always Believed In Us

I’ve always been a dreamer. Since I was a little girl I had big plans, ones that included trips to the moon and teaching a classroom of smiling kindergartners and writing books and traveling the world. I’m sure it drove people crazy, my wandering around, my absentminded humming, my sketches and lines of imaginary stories, my zoning out in the middle of class, and my whispering of wishes to my stuffed animals as I held them on my lap on the backyard swing set.

I always had my head in the clouds, believing in things much bigger than myself.

And even fifteen, twenty years later, I’m still that same foolish dreamer, believing in the promise of tomorrows, believing in future plans, believing in love and all its complexities.

Believing in us.

I’ve always believed in real love, in big love, in the kind of love that stretches across time and place and circumstance to cover two people like a blanket. I’ve always believed in the love you sort of stumble upon, the unplanned connection between two souls that suddenly shifts your steadiness and causes you to let go, lean in.

I’ve always believed in the kind of love that creeps up behind you, then blinds you with its beauty. The kind of love that makes you fall into the arms of someone, makes you open your heart to them without explanation.

The kind of love that fills your life. The kind of love that’s fearless.

Maybe I’m a dreamer, but I always imagined that kind of love would find me. That I’d be moseying around, living my own life and it would bump into me, take me by surprise, throw me off balance in a way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but I’d embrace all the same.

Maybe I’m a dreamer, but I always imagined this sort of love would make me question everything I’d ever known, challenge me in ways that only love can, make me believe in the impossible even more than I already do.

Maybe I’m a dreamer, but when I fell into you, I knew.

I’ll blame it on the way I was raised—an artistic mother, a father who never understood how to quit. I’ll blame it on the way I’ve always seen the world—so open, so unexplored, so ready to be touched, molded, and created by our hands into something beautiful.

I’ll blame it on the way you look at me, like no one has, with eyes that see beyond the surface of my smile, but all the way into my soul.

I’ll blame it on the way I’ve always had my head floating above my body, writing poetry, humming, dancing in circles around my thoughts, dreaming of a future love. The kind of love I have with you.

Maybe I’m foolish for being this girl that dreams, but I can’t change my heart.

Here we are, hours and miles and light years and eons apart.
And I can’t help but still believe.