not quite deleted yet
Summer has become work and empty spaces with time as the enemy. It's an odd feeling to yearn for school right now. That thick summer air isn't producing the games it used to. I don't look for friends on my street, and summer lacks the sounds it used to bring. I go outside to run- to exercise- to be that responsible woman who takes care of her body. Is that the way I play now? My imagination isn't entertained by a simple swim on a summer night. At 11, a pool makes you feel all alone- Small and ship-wrecked on your own island. The shadows of the trees were your enemies, and you were the mermaid who would save a drowning boy from the bottom of the roaring sea.
Now: the water is cold, the chlorine burns your eyes, and the pool isn't what makes you feel small and alone. The boy at the bottom of the sea is real and your waters are deeper than you ever imagined they could be.
So, I keep coming back to the question of: Do our imaginations leave us or is it that they simply become reality? Do we become the stories of our childhood? My sea is large and it's confusing. Everyday the shadows change shape- And a boy drowning in the ocean I've made for myself exists.
But, there's always that feeling that we will win- that we make the rules of own life. Could it be that we are still playing the games we created ten years ago? Am I still a mermaid looking for love in that big ocean?- OK, well it's a cheesy thought I have to admit, but I like thinking of myself in that light rather than a 19 year-old college student working on a degree in business. I'd prefer to think that being an adult simply means knowing how to be the hero of my game. I want to believe that growing up isn't leaving these games, but making an imagination real.
If that's the case, well, then we already have the answers. I need to believe that we had the plan mapped out at eleven. We knew where happiness could be found- That If we just believed a little bit more and dug a little deeper to find one more story- another possibility, then we could make it. There were always characters to meet and an understanding that we were part of a bigger story to tell. And if this is the case then all that's left it do is, well, to play.
Now: the water is cold, the chlorine burns your eyes, and the pool isn't what makes you feel small and alone. The boy at the bottom of the sea is real and your waters are deeper than you ever imagined they could be.
So, I keep coming back to the question of: Do our imaginations leave us or is it that they simply become reality? Do we become the stories of our childhood? My sea is large and it's confusing. Everyday the shadows change shape- And a boy drowning in the ocean I've made for myself exists.
But, there's always that feeling that we will win- that we make the rules of own life. Could it be that we are still playing the games we created ten years ago? Am I still a mermaid looking for love in that big ocean?- OK, well it's a cheesy thought I have to admit, but I like thinking of myself in that light rather than a 19 year-old college student working on a degree in business. I'd prefer to think that being an adult simply means knowing how to be the hero of my game. I want to believe that growing up isn't leaving these games, but making an imagination real.
If that's the case, well, then we already have the answers. I need to believe that we had the plan mapped out at eleven. We knew where happiness could be found- That If we just believed a little bit more and dug a little deeper to find one more story- another possibility, then we could make it. There were always characters to meet and an understanding that we were part of a bigger story to tell. And if this is the case then all that's left it do is, well, to play.