𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

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my mind is as vast as space
perpetual
infinite
unending

i can create whole stories with my mind alone
and watch them develop in front of me
so clearly, vividly,
that if i reach out my gloved hand
i can touch the landscape and feel.

i love creating tragical tales of woe,
of solemn wives awaiting the return
of their long lost husbands

or thrilling fables of sneaking into places
one shouldn't be
like a royal castle
or secret hideaway

i can imagine until i fall asleep
and so sometimes i must pull myself away
and shake the thoughts from my head,
rid myself from this
pit of imagination that flows and ebbs

i knock thrice on my helmet
as if to say
is anyone in there?
come back down to the moon, please.

and then i realize that i have spent hours
dreaming
imagining

for my mind keeps a vice grip on me
and i cannot wriggle free
until i am satisfied with how
my stories have played out.

sometimes i must start my tale all over
for i gave a character the wrong name
or made them say something
that is too unlike them

but i don't mind at all—
i just keep imagining

for sometimes the places i make in my mind are better than the reality i live in.

—for sometimes the places i make in my mind are better than the reality i live in

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