Here’s to the Fools Who Dream…

Here’s to the one who dares, the one with trembling hands and a fire in their chest. To the one who sees the impossible and walks toward it anyway. Not because they’re brave, but because their soul doesn’t understand any other language.

Here’s to the fool who dreams, even when the world hurls silence at their voice, even when their heart has been shattered more times than they can count. They don’t dream because it’s easy. They dream because not dreaming would kill something inside them.

The fool who builds when everything is broken. Who bets on themselves with the last coin of their courage. Who believes in love after betrayal, and in the morning after endless night. Who wakes up every day with their back against the wall, but still stands up, still shows up.

They are not practical. They don’t always make sense. But they are the spark in a world grown cold. They are fire wrapped in fragile skin, the kind of fire that refuses to die, even when doused in grief, even when left alone.

Here’s to the fool who writes letters no one reads, who paints futures on cracked canvases, who loves out loud even when the echo never returns. Who stares at the stars not because they’re lost, but because they still believe in direction.

The world mocks them. Dismisses them. Leaves them out in the cold. But when the dust settles, the noise fades, and the world needs rebuilding, it’s the fool who rises from the ruins. Still reaching. Still running. Still dreaming.

Because they were never chasing applause. They were chasing purpose.

So here’s to the fool who dreams. May their scars be worn like medals. May their madness stay unfiltered. Because without them, the world forgets how to hope. And we forget how to feel alive.

Day 89/100

Home, Rohini

~ A

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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