Imagination

by Samantha Havela

Every year that I grow older, I can feel my imagination vanishing. The foundation that makes up my castle is being destroyed brick by brick. I miss the childhood bliss of unreality. The mermaids that lived in my pool and the crowd waiting for me to take the stage and the portal at the end of the street that brought me to Paris. I want to live in a world where anything is possible just because I believe in it. I want to see the magic in the world, allowing fairies to live in flowers and all people to be naturally good. We live under a façade of adulthood and act like we have things under control when in reality our minds and hearts beat like the hooves of wild mustangs with our childhood fantasies guiding us making up our existence no matter how much of our imagination fades away in the hours our mind is locked behind the golden vault of limited reality. Even if one’s perception of the world constantly changes, I believe the imagination is never completely gone. My castle will never be fully knocked down. How could this world function without fantasies and magic and miracles and daydreams.

The dichotomy of reality and unreality is a lie. They function together not a part. A part of something bigger that drives the human mind. And I choose to believe in magic in a world that says magic does not exist.