My dreams aren’t small.
My life is big.
I care too much about living,
about drinking beers with friends
and reading and painting
and long lunches
and days at the beach
and spontaneous roadtrips
to schedule myself within an inch of my life
or sacrifice the endless now for some indeterminate future
where I’ll have time to do all the things
I’m already doing,
only with a bigger wardrobe
and much better investments.
I refuse to give up the ability to stop everything
and write a poem on a park bench
in the middle of the afternoon.
Because my dreams aren’t small.
My life is big.
