When I was young, with an untainted mind, I used to dream. They were intricate creations that redefined the possible and impossible. They were full of magic, imagination, pure happiness. But it lasted for a short time, a time that I’ve come to miss more and more as I age.
As I lost my innocence, as I was forced to face the truth of the world, my dreams turned. It was not a slow process; it did not gradually rise like the sun each morning. Instead, it began beneath the surface, an infection festering, before bursting suddenly to the surface.
The infection brought a darkness to my dreams, it left me gasping for air after I’d emptied my lungs screaming into the hollow
night. I faced death and pain and horror, only to awaken and face it again. I feared the world I lived in, but I feared the world I created in my own mind even more.
After a time, I stopped allowing myself to even acknowledge the existence of the world in my mind. I refused to sleep until it became physically impossible. I was medicated, both by myself and by doctors, but there was no way I could find to truly eliminate the world.
I was still forced to confront the contorted remains of my young dreams.
Yes, when I was young I was pure. I was full of magic, imagination, and happiness. But the world is not so pure. When the innocence is lost, then you too will see it for what it is. My child, embrace your youth, for it won’t be long until the infection which lurks even now in the deepest recesses of your mind will reveal itself and there will be no going back.
There will only be the tattered memories of a childhood, only the faintest strands of young dreams.