When I was a kid, I would sit in a suitcase and pretend I could fly, even though I was on the sfloor. I knew my parents and my siblings and the kids that lived in the house next door. My imagination was limited only to whatI could make from a baseball hat or a brokem bat, and I stared at the stars. I knew that no matter where I fell or ran or tried to fly, I could never really go too far. And I didn't mind. My hands were always searching, learning for things that I could do to see and to fell how this world was connected to me. Gravity was sometimes the only thing that held me to the ground, and I am convinced that sometimes it let go a little bit, and helped me fly around. But I was getting nowhere. I grew up little by little and I hope you understand that in this case growing up doesn't mean becoming an adult, it just means adding years on to my life and I held to that so I wouldn't lose the creativity that I carried on my shoulders like a pair of angel wings. You'll grow up too, i'm sure, but not the adult kind, just the years kind. And you'll find that your hands want to reach out instead of up to hug people instead of thoughts and see the world instead of the back of my eyelids. And dreaming is no longer the way it used to be when I was little, when dreams were scattered like stars and told of fairies and castles and dragons and battles in lands near and far. Instead they know of people and stories that are very very real and hope to change, hope to find ways to heal in the ways that the old dreams never could.