Sometimes I think that the American Dream is fake, a nightmare that is covered up.Deep in the ground it lays waiting to be watered by the gradually dripping rain the falls from the gray clouds. Then this dream shall bloom like a flower and, it will show off till the clock strikes twelve. Then the people that have doubted its charms and picked its innocent petals; shall glare at her glory. Her thorns protecting her heart and then some. This American Dream that was once a nightmare now blooming slowly. Like baby steps being taken and then even bigger steps will be tracked in the white  snow as the strangers reach their destinations. Then shall the people put aside fear, give away love and continue to dream those same dreams that has kept them up at night. Let them draw and write those dreams and see the eyes of strangers admire such beauty. Like a ballerina on stage. Her dress dangles around her waiste ; as she is drowned in grace. So once it is dreamt it can reveal the real you but, for those who dream can't just wish for it to come true. In order to dream your hands have to touch the soil of the earth, and in order to believe you have to have faith. Then shall the American Dream become reality, then shall it be true.