Every child has imagined something or other.  Be it castles, princesses, and dragons, or lava floors and an invisible friend, I have yet to meet someone without a memory of what they used to imagine when they were little.  And these same people seem to be confused by why their lives are no longer as simplistic and wonderful as they once were.  Ignoring growing responsibilities and more worries, I tend to believe that people regret the loss of their childhood because with their advancement of age, they lost the power to imagine.  As for myself, I have strained to hold onto the shreds of my childhood, because I can’t let go of my imagination.  It’s what keeps me happy through long days, chemistry tests, and even longer nights.  I love that I can escape on my ship made out of silk and clouds, to a land where dreaming is an acceptable livelihood.  Sometimes, it feels like I’m all alone in my invisible escapades (Don’t get me wrong, I often adore my imaginary solitude).  But then, I find someone whom I can relate my dreaming to, and I discover that it’s nice to be understood.

So even though imagination is something that one partakes of alone (most of the time), I suppose I’m trying to say that imagination is only part of the puzzle.  If you have no one to confide your dreams to, then they will wither and rot away within your mind.  Even a journal, for me, is effective enough to freshen up my ideas.

I guess I’m just trying to say that even though I’m growing up, and somehow, sadly, losing my childhood perspective, I still revere it and encourage it to stay.

This whole post probably made little to no sense.  Oops. :)

Claire Marie

P.S.  I have an audition in less than two weeks that I have to submit some of my work to.  If you think any of my poems (or anything, really) that I’ve put on here are worthy to show to judges, please, please let me know.  If you would like me to show you guys more of stuff, let me know about that too.  Thank you so much!


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