Dreams

I remember a time when I felt so much passion for life that I could barely contain it. I remember contemplating the vast possibilities that lay before me at a very young age. I had dreams once. It's hard to remember now but I can vaguely recall wanting to be older, wanting to be doing these great things I knew I would one day do. A little bit of life happened, and a moment later, all I wanted was to be happy. The more I lost, the less I wanted. I lost sight of the things I wanted after I lost what I needed. When someone asks me what I want from life I respond modestly; "I want to be happy. I want to be healthy. I want enough money to live comfortably. I want love." Why have I let my necessities become my goals? Living a comfortable life isn't a dream. It's something I should simply refuse to live without. But after I have everything I need in place, what do I work for? Some people are lucky. Some people have dreams. I forgot how to dream a long time ago. What's the point of a person with no dreams?