When I was a kid
It was so easy
To get lost
In the depths
Of my overactive imagination.
I dreamed up worlds
Of saturated colors
In arching storylines
With characters I knew better
Than I knew myself.
They were my escape.
There were "Kristen" and "Melanie",
The sisters who loved unconditionally
In a southern style home
Transplanted to the landscape
Of the Pacific Northwest.
There were "Tadgh" and "Samantha"
Who wrote melodic masterpieces
To match the turbulent serenity
That threatened to pull them apart
With every corner turn in life.
There were so many others
That I poured my time into,
Creating a universe
I so desperately wanted
To permanently live in.
Though I was their creator,
Their molder and former,
I was also a mere visitor,
Just pressing my nose against the glass.

Now sometimes I wonder
Whatever became of those characters.
Did their stories turn into the fairytales
Everyone hiddenly desires for themselves?
Did they wind up finding love
And family and happiness and peace?
Did they struggle and fail and lose at life?

Some say I could go back,
Find the threads of their unfinished tales.
But that isn't possible.
It isn't possible because I've grown up,
And the door in the back of the wardrobe
Has become a flat panel of wood.
And I'm left with my nose
Pressed up against the glass of memory.