There are things I lose with time, far more valuable than any item I’ve ever held.
It is unfortunate yet inevitable—impending, and I sense this year will be the last I will stay attached to these things—attached to my youth.
These things are my world, my dreams, and my imagination.
I have built a universe of my own, containing all of my childish theories, characters, and stories. It contains all of the places I imagined myself in, all of the things I would’ve liked to do if magic was unlimited. Great big trees that stretched across the sky, ethereal cities that glimmered in the heavens, floating islands with marble pillars, and much much more. I was the adventurer of them all.
Throughout my childhood, this world compounded—it gathered and encapsulated all of what I yearned to be, but couldn’t.
It is a desperate rush to write—in time these things will fade as my youth comes to an end. It was only this year I started to see what will become of these things. Some have already faded, but as I grow older into the end of high school, it becomes more and more urgent to abandon them.
What becomes of them: dust, stupid ideas, distant memories, false yearning, distraction. An irrational sense of unfulfillment.
I must turn my creativity to the real world to solve real problems—I cannot spare it for an old fantasy. Yet, I cannot simply let go. It is a rush to write them down on paper to keep them from fading away. It adds so much stress to the year.
Soon it will only become dust, stupid ideas, distant memories, false yearning, and distraction.
I will write them down, and then abandon them. This is the fate of any fantasy.
Featured Image: Artwork by Kurehito Misaki (AKA Cradle)
Write Our World 