Be what you knew, before you were taught to be.
I remember being somebody else. I remember being more than one person actually while trying to find who I am. The memories that frolic upon my consciousness are consciously waiting for me to remember what I was here for.
Do you remember the first time you realised you were alive, or that you were good at something? Do you remember believing in fairies and dragons until somebody told you they were all just made up to amuse children and to spark imagination? Or were you the one that told them? Do you remember you? The passionate, erratic symbolicness of memories still haunt me to my core. I don’t understand how swallowing your dreams is an acceptable outcome from societies view because your dream isn’t profitable to make the world go round.
Now I bet you see your first thoughts in the form of a small child, young and free; excited, afraid, anticipating yet awaiting what life had to offer. When people told you that being a dinosaur was an unrealistic path and that it was time to grow up and be apart of the real world… was that the beginning of you allowing people to craft you into something you no longer recognise or is that something you like to forget too? It’s easy to stop trying to remember and easier to let life blow you around like a tumbleweed in the wind; life’s about chance and luck, you don’t always get the short end of the stick though.
It scares me how easily manipulated our thoughts are when we are young, yet even moreso that we let ourselves forget; to fit inside the doll house we left beside our bed each night, hoping that the dolls will wake you up with their chatter, just longing to belong inside your own imaginary world. One day I will be great. One day I will be old enough… to be the same as everybody else?