I used to talk to these flowers imagining they were little ladies with voluminous dresses and many frills. Ladies who, with their many legs danced in imaginary balls and were my company in summer afternoons. I swear I could even hear the music and the sound of their many shoes hitting one another.
So many days have passed since my imagination was enough to entertain myself and be happy. When you are a kid, talking to yourself out loud is no sign of madness.
I used to be so entertained in this process that even when my parents were mocking me from where they were standing, it took me a while to figure it out and stop talking for a while. But, just until they left. And, I went back to that small world that only existed in summer afternoons.
I usually went back home at dusk, when the crickets were echoing their voices, and I just let the flowers scattered on the floor because after all, I could just pick some more on the following day. There was this certainty of continuity…
Today none of this happens. I no longer have so much imagination, there are no imaginary balls or someone forgot to invite me. I cannot even find these flowers that often. There is no certainty of continuity, only fear of what may be next.
No more ladies with many legs and shoes. Just me with two legs…and many shoes! 🙂
What is this seriousness that comes with age? What happened?
I grew up.