When the fluffy disappearing lines led to somewhere in my imagination where excitement lived.
I closed my eyes and I could hear were playground symphonies and all I could see behind the canvas of my eyelids were all the magical places I could visit.
Swimming pool splashes and the high pitched innocent laughing of children who could be my friends, the silhouette of big round ears against the backdrop of a princess' castle.
Years later I hear the same things, the visions still as vivid. Yet when I board the jet to take me there the colours of my imagination blend into the grey of the seats.
Now the gentle corporate hum takes me to where I need to be in an efficient dreamless manner.
Why when I look up can I see dreams, but when I look down I drown in reality?
Lara Bloom
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