I've always been the girl with the wild imagination, always dreaming. Reality was the fantasy world in my head; the inexistant world. I could never understand the true purpose for things, for I had made up my own. Real friends were far and few with me. I preferred to remain alone, locked away inside myself, never to hear the outside world, for the music in my fantasies was much too loud. I've been everywhere, done everything, and met most everyone I dubbed important enough to aquaint myself with. I considered myself the "Keeper of the Knowledge of the World". I knew it all. I flew with the faries, ran with the unicorns and swam with the mermaids. I could not be contained; I was a restless spirit in a thousand worlds at once. My blue eyes had been tainted, I saw things that noone else could. I was a dreamer, on the go, never to be stopped. I've written hundreds of unfinished books, detailing my glorious adventures. When reality rejected me, I never dwelled, for I was a princess in my places, places where noone else could go but me, where I was the most beautiful, most intelligent, funniest, and the most gentle; Where I was greeted with a deafening cheer every time I returned. When the world remained unsatisfactory in my eyes, complaining was never an idea, but escaping was. I was a dreamer...
Somewhere along life's bumpy roads, it has all vanished; the faries, the mermaids, the imaginary friends, the kingdoms. Its all disappeared. I've finally been captured, my mind is now tame. But when they tried to lock up my imagination, they discovered it is not entirely possible, for part of my dreams have escaped the chains of realism. But where did it all go? Where are all my dreams? Have I not always prefered fantasy over reality? Then why did I let go? I try so hard to relive my dreams, but always with a pained disappointment. As I strive for my mind's release, I remain mourning the loss of my imaginative mind.
