Wide Awake, Dreaming

There's a part of me that constantly says "Put away those fanciful things. Lock the fantasies in a box and bury them in the shadows. Silence the voices that talk of imaginary things and hide them under the bed, because they are the only things that bump in the night. Stop looking for those legendary beings, there's no sparkle in the grass, no flit in the shade. Put away, put away, all those fanciful things."

It's not a harsh voice. Not usually. It's a soothing tone, one that is used to hush a tearful child, or treat a fevered brow. That's what makes it so convincing.

But, is it really the right thing to do? Without my imagination, without my hope in the impossible, I think I might just fall to pieces. It's a sad thought to some, and I don't know if it's a sad thought to me, but I know that giving up all these fanciful things would just make my life a whole lot harder.

Or that's what I think.

But I seem to be so far behind those who find happiness.

I'm wishing for the impossible, and the impossible never happens.

I make dinosaurs out of slices of melon. They... what do they do?

I truly don't know.


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