To a dreamer

You are dreaming. 

You are dreaming, and isn't that wonderful? Isn't that infinite? 

Impossibilities have happened over and over again; 
they must have, because despite everything, 
we exist. 
Despite everything, 
there is a floating rock in a void where life can grow 
where primates looked up and found stories in the shapes of stars. 

This is a dream, 
of course it is, 
how else can such wonder be real? 
We infused music in a universal energy field, 
found that sharp-fanged monsters liked being pet behind the ears, 
learned to hold hands and laugh and cry 
learned kindness in the face of a cruel wilderness. 
We are made of iron and hydrogen and carbon and nitrogen and calcium, 
built from the skeletons of gods. 

This is miraculous. This is impossible. 

We are only dreams 
but, oh, 
isn't that the most beautiful thing to be?