~ la la
Is there a line between imagination and immaturity? Is there a difference between being childish and being a realist?
Is it possible to be both? Is it probable to believe in magic?
Questions flow through my mind, one after the other.
Am I growing up? Or am I still immature?
Is believing in hope childish? Is wishing for miracles idiotic?
Realism is so restraining. Can one be a realist and have an active imagination?
I can.
I can watch clouds transform into animals, find magic in the most concrete of places, dream of distant lands filled with magical creatures.
My imagination takes me places that no one else can even dream of. I can see things that others overlook. The small things others see as unworthy of attention. Those things that make life magical. That make it worth living.
Those things that bring light to life.
People don't see them anymore.