Most nights, when I'm not too ready to fall asleep, I'll make my bed and crawl in and imagine myself somewhere beautiful. When I was thirteen, I'd imagine waking up in a house made of twigs and branches as if the Lost Boys built it for me. I'd imagine that when I open my eyes, the sun would cast gold beams of light through the openings, coloring my private tent with the fabric of fairy dust and hanging vines.
Other nights I'd imagine floating aimlessly on a raft somewhere warm with shallow waters where the fish would swim around me and push the raft along. The water rocks me to sleep, and I'd wake up refreshed as if I'd gone on a real adventure.
Recently, I've been thinking about clouds and how nice it would be if they were of solid essence, if they were warm and cozy, if they could hold the weight of my head and push me through the night sky and bring me closer to the galaxy. The universe is in me, and I'm trying to bring it closer to reality rather than just in my imagination.
This is my super secret late night treat for nights that I cannot sleep and need a bit of adventure. I'm more in love with imagination than I've been with anything or anyone in a long time. I am in love with the way it is all mine, all real inside of me for no one else to defile or hurt.
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