As a child we daydreamed of impossible things. We pretended we had wings and soared high in the sky, or had powers beyond any human's natural ability. We laughed and played in a carefree way, only to start over the very next day. Then, as we grew older, the reality of the world began to take control over our lives. Dreams turned from imaginary tales to real life expectancies. A job to pay our bills, a home to call our own, a family who will fulfill our hearts and eventually, they become dreams of retirement.
I was caught up in the reality trap until a couple of years ago when I decided to unlock the sealed door inside my mind. I began dreaming of imaginary tales again.
I relearned how to dream about fictional friends, breathe in their world, suffer their pain and rejoice in their happiness. Closing my eyes, I could feel what was inside of each character: their conflicting emotions, strongest desires, agonizing pains and dreaded fears. I could taste their simplest needs, smell their passionate cravings, and feel as though I were living their lives with them.
Then, when the entire story was complete, I sat down and began writing. One word after another flowed from this incredible world into thought and through my hands as I typed away the hours of night. This was only the beginning, and as with each imaginary story, the end is still yet to come.
So, if you ever wonder why I like to write, the answer is really quite simple. I might grow older every day but, in my heart, I’m still that daydreaming child with an imaginative mind. I believe life is too short. We can never fully enjoy it if we are serious all the time.