#52Weeks2017
Week 1
Embarking on something new. Writing a story/essay a week. These pieces will no longer only exist for my eyes, in my journals, but also for the world to see. #52essays2017
Week 1
Embarking on something new. Writing a story/essay a week. These pieces will no longer only exist for my eyes, in my journals, but also for the world to see. #52essays2017
Here goes nothing…
The first of 52
She remembers living in her imaginary life. Constantly. Everyday,
for most of the day. Hiding it from everyone. Keeping it to herself, like her
best kept secret. It was a treasure only she knew about. A treasure the world
would have devalued, or viewed as concerning, had they known about it’s
existence. She remembers being another person; with different thoughts,
different looks, having other things, more things. She loved this person so
much, enjoying her own company, and never wanting her to leave. She loved
herself in real life, but she idolized who she was in her imaginary life, because
she chose everything about her. Her name, her looks, family, friends, home. She
remembers the moments of annoyance when rudely interrupted by reality, snapping
her out of her perfect little life. These were the moments she decided if her
parents or sibling was ‘good enough’ to play a role in a scene in her ‘life’,
without them knowing. She remembers new family members and friends, drama,
problems, and plot twists being added to her imaginary life, with every movie
or dream that brought about new ideas.
Her mind was wild and free making her ‘life’ every bit as
she wished it would be. She remembers happiness and excitement every time she ‘played’,
or better said, lived secretly. She only stopped playing when real life impeded
the secret implementation of her imaginary life. She held on to this ‘life’ for
countless years, until early adolescence barged in, making this kind of
imagination shameful, and priorities changed from secret lives to friends and
boys. Perhaps she should have continued to ‘play’. Perhaps her real life was
only real because it existed to outsiders, who knew nothing about HER reality.
Perhaps ‘real life’ needed that spark of imagination to continue burning for
the sake of her sanity.
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