Dreaming for others, for the world, feels unrealistic. Feels like naive value-projection. Everything you could hope for is already a cliché. But maybe an end to violence is a cliché worth holding yourself to. Abundance is right around the corner. Once we leave the religion of scarcity, cast it aside like an unnecessary garment.
Dreaming for yourself feels selfish. Especially when you already have enough. But a man without dreams is a bore to his neighbor. My wishes are for the carnal and the sacred, an unprecedented, envious balance. A love capable of staying through the hardest of times. And the good fortune to celebrate no matter the cost.