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.