Dancing lines leap from my utensil.

Imagintion spirals from the tip of my pen like the dancing flame licking at the heavens.

Spellbound a child sits by, their eyes fixated on the magic I just conjured.

Now a lopsided grin graces their features.

Everything I have ever wanted.

Years ago he sat here too.

With a dream. A small kindering idea.

Often his words spring from subconcious,

Repeating, "That's the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up."

Like him I never wished to grow up. But instead see the world through the magic in a child's eyes.

Do you hear it? "There, do you see it, second star to the right and straight on until morning." Let's go.