Espresso.
Here's to my dad.
Who saw the best and the worst in everyone at once.
Who is still a mystery after 16 years of not being in this world.
Who had the imagination of a child
and, like a child,
believed in "forever",
but did not prepare for it.
For my dad, who dreamt of greener fields
and open spaces and still
built a house around his dreams,
holding them in,
boxing them.
Here's to the man that dreamed me up,
maybe still does.
In case that's true, dad,
If you're just dreaming about me,
make something nice up for me, will you?
Dream me in a future where everything is bright,
fields are green,
spaces are open,
people are good,
and maybe, just maybe,
dream a dream in which you hold me again.
