Imagination

There was once a little girl who liked to make up stories. As she grew, she learned to put them into words, getting them out of her mind and on the paper.

She invented a magical world where she could run away to every time the world she already lived in didn’t allow her to spread her wings. Sometimes she ran in that world when she was scared or lonely or even when she was happy. All those emotions, she left in that world, coming back to this one with an expressionless face.

It was because of that that people thought she was weird. Her own parents believed she needed to separate herself from the magical world.

But how could she? That world was made from her emotions. Letting go of it meant leaving everything she ever cared about behind.

But, because she wanted to be accepted in this world, she let the other one go.

She became a normal girl, with little to no imagination.

As the time passed, she felt more and more hollow, like part of her was missing. But she couldn’t remember what it was.

Year after year, she grew more and more tired of life. And all the while people didn’t notice anything. They simply thought she was being normal. Being as everyone wanted her to be but not herself.

And she grew old and her heart was void of all emotion.

Then, on her deathbed, she saw a beautiful bird that nudged her to follow it. She saw a glimpse of the magical world and of the emotions, she had left behind as a child. But the road to that world wasn’t easy anymore.

Her imagination was so small, so empty, as herself.

She had barely come half way when she fell and died.

For it was too late to regain her emotions and imagination.