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My imagination and me

When I was a child, my imagination was my only playmate. It didn’t yell at me, or make fun of me, or beat me up. It didn’t scare me, or hurt me, or make me cry. It hit me, but with ideas instead of emotional slaps to my soul. It was my only friend because it never betrayed my friendship, and so I trusted it, and followed it, without question.


We went a lot of places, my imagination and me.
We built forts in the sand,
forts in the snow,
secret forts in the woods.
We were always defending.

We were a lot of people, my imagination and me.
We were the sheriff,
the king,
the hero in the white hat riding the white horse.
We were always stopping the bad.

We did a lot of things, my imagination and me.
We made up stories,
and the people in them,
and the funny things the people said.
We laughed.
We were coping and escaping at the same time.

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