We stared up at the plethera of colorful balloons, amazed as they glided over the rooftops and into the sky.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?"
I looked down to see an old man.  He was sitting on a step outside a door looking up at the balloons just as we had been.  He glanced at me and gave a quick smile, ruffling his pointy beard. "My son always dreamed of flying in one of those."
there was a moment of silence before someone in our group spoke up. "What happened to your son?"
He turned away from the balloons and looked at us with his old, blue eyes, "He didn't believe"
We all looked at each other, obvious curiosity in each of our faces.  The man chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the sides.  He leaned over, elbows on his knees, and spoke, "It was twenty-five years ago, when my son was ten years old, that we first came to see the balloons take flight. His eyes lit up, much like all of your did just now, but that spark stayed there.  Yes, it stayed and it grew.  All he ever talked about was growing up to pilot one of those balloons." The man chuckled, "His determination was beautiful. He even went so far as to go to the library and look up some books! Oh, he studied hard till he knew what each and every trinket on that balloon was called and what every single one of them was supposed to do.  Needless to say, we cam each year to see the balloons take off and his dream only grew bigger.
"It was that one day, ten years ago, that he stopped believing." He all of a sudden looked very old, his eyes were turned down to the ground.  He took a crumpled paper out of his coat and held it out to us, "The fateful crash of Barry Wingham, his idolized pilot.  It was like watching him be crushed right along with that balloon." His face fell and a sob escaped, his voice crackled as he spoke, "He stopped believing.  He gave it all up; his dream.  Now it will never come true." He looked up at us with tear-filled eyes, "don't give up. Keep believing in your dreams. Or you will forever regret it." He coughed a few times, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then handed me the picture of the balloon crash.
"Always believe." He said, then he walked down the street and out of sight, leaving us all in wonder.