As a child my dreams existed beyond my head. They ran wild in my backyard, took flavor in my mother's kitchen, twirled to the notes of my father's piano, rung loud to the cathartic sounds of a church choir while finding refuge in a grandmother's prayer. My dreams were sure and limitless. Ready to awaken the dreams of those around me who allowed the whims of the world and the hardships of life burry their own. I did not need be taught to create, nor told, it is my nature. I’m not sure which came first. The dreamer or the creator in me, but either way, without them there is no Imani Khali.