ODE FOR an exuberant imagination

Letters...Letters, too many that form words, which cram the pages at hand, I can't stop writing, my imagination flows faster than a river in the rainy season. My hands trying to keep up with the hectic pace of my imagination as best they can

All interrupted by the demanding voice of my boss What have I told you about writing nonsense during working hours, stop your cheesy stuff and get to work with an unexpected tug she removed the sheet as it gave a desperate cry for help knowing what her end was To end up squeezed and about to die in the despair of garbage oblivion. A deplorable end for such a work of art composed by me. Despised, that's how I felt in those moments. I don't know how it is possible that people consider reading boring and prefer to be on the couch admiring the absurd television. A book can take you to imaginary and wonderful places or it can lead you to your worst nightmare, totally a magnificent experience...

―Miss Evans, are you even listening?― With a crestfallen head I made a gesture indicating ' no ' . Pointing to the exit I understood what she was trying to say with her non-verbal language... I was fired, I understood what the piece of paper in the trash felt like, it no longer served her interests. With a burst of anger I grabbed the crumpled and dying sheet of paper from the trash and ran out of the office. I ran, as fast as I could, I felt like I was in one of my stories, the wind hitting my face, messing up my hair. And most of all being free.

Free from the ties that kept me in that city. I arrived home and determined never to return to the city, I packed only a change of clothes, my typewriter and brought with me all the money I had. I arrived at the train stop, bought a ticket to a stop near a forest.

Tired from the exhausting day, I dreamed. I dreamed of incredible worlds that went far beyond the imagination of an ordinary human. I had always wondered what would become of me if one day I disappeared from the face of the earth. My friends, companions and family... Would I be missed? Did they forget all our memories? Or was I just another person in this world, unimportant, who cares! Maybe the red thread of fate had other plans for me. Besides, I was never one to stay in one place forever.

I arrived at my stop. All dark and lonely, and without further ado I entered the forest, the light of the sunset was entering the forest trying to reach the hungry roots of the trees. The fresh and pure air saturated my lungs that were used to the suffocating and toxic air. I knew this was the place, I belonged here, my human nature felt identified with the life around me. I closed my eyes, stretched out my arms and exhaled deeply. I picked up my computer, felt the ideas flowing into my head, analyzing them. Suddenly I opened my eyes and I knew what to write...

Letters... More and more letters, too many forming words, which saturate the sheets of paper, this feeling is uncontrollable, I can't stop writing, my imagination flows... No... It flies faster than an eagle trying to catch its prey. My hands follow the rhythm of my imagination as if it were music. Those letters create words, which create stories, which will be in the forest of my imagination.