The Dreamer at the End of the Maze

I have walked this path to my secret place for as long as I can remember. In the budding springs of my youth, I spent hours on end enchanted by the unseen magic. My feet nuzzled into glistening white sandals and a ponytail bobbed on top of my head with golden brown strands tickling the back my neck. I skipped, believing that if I took large enough jumps, it would turn into flight. I could then fly into the milky clouds and accompany the fairies in their dancing, singing, and infinite bliss. Though, I would have to find the nimble creatures and go to their mysterious home that was hidden in the forest.

There was a cracked sidewalk that ran along the edges of the houses. Overgrown grass and budding dandelion weeds attempted to invade the gaps between each cement block, though, these spaces surprisingly remained unscathed. It was as if a miniature army of unseen angels was protecting the sidewalk from impurity. I felt safe when I was there because I knew those angels were watching over me as well. Eventually, the houses on the block came to an abrupt stop, yet the path continued on and my imagination continued on too. When the sidewalk ended, there was a forest of thick trees encompassing the path, welcoming me to my dream world. I called it my enchanted forest, for that was what it was to me. Among the trees, if I closed my eyes, I heard the fluttering of fairy wings. They were so quiet that to an ordinary person, it only sounded like a faint buzzing. I would take a deep breath and inhale the sweet scent of pixie dust that filled the warm air, knowing that with enough air, I would burst into flight. I would then slowly open my eyes and search for my friends, the fairies. They hid beneath the sparkling green leaves, but they could never fool me. I knew that the rustling I heard was not the wind rubbing against spring’s first blooms, but rather the sound was my fairy playmates taunting me, begging me to join in their games. Although I never saw them, my childish mind never questioned their existence.

Life went on though. I grew older and circumstances forced to wash away the mask that skewed my view of the world. One car ride, six state borderlines, 283 miles, four hours, and 37 minutes separated me from my familiar home and brought me to a house that was new to me, yet looked exhaustedly old. A house where overgrown, invasive weeds smacked at the cracked sidewalk and there was no one to guard it. A house that was full of transparent windows, which instead of being beautiful, only threatened me, windows for everyone else to look in- to stare at my face, my clothes, my hair, my flaws, and judge away, make assumptions about me, my life, where I have been, and where I am going.

The pollen daze where I used to live, made everything slightly hazy and added a tint of mystery that was now gone, never to return. Everything was so clear that there was no place left for magic. The charm of my universe vanished; or maybe, it never existed in the first place. I felt naked and bare, stripped of the angel army that was once my protector. The truth that the world is a harsh, cold, and a judging place dawned on me. My new reality was vivid enough to blind my eyes of any past hopes that this earth would be a kind and inviting place to my dreams. I was alone, living in an old house, which for me was a new and unknown territory, one where imagination was seized from my grasp.
I thought at times that I should have tried to take my imagination back, but I now know that life is a maze with a thousand ends, a thousand dead ends, and a thousand ways to reach each one. I don't know if it is possible to find imagination in a place like that.

Eventually though, I came back home for a visit. While I was there, the least I could do was try to navigate through the maze, retrace my steps, and search for the old me, the dreamer. I walked to the forest, as a young, yet wiser woman of 14, hoping, begging that the magic would return to my world. I prayed that happiness and dreams were not fake like the fairies. Although it was spring, the crisp chill of winter still lingered, clenching life by its throat and squeezing out the drops of spring’s potential. In my faded, ripped converse and messy bob, I ambled along the remains of an old, forgotten sidewalk. Weeds surrounded the stones but never occupied their territory. Maybe some sort of poison lay amongst the cracks, some toxin that kept life from oozing into the mysteries of the forbidden soil.

When I reached the end of the path, I searched. I examined every inch of what was once my fantasy world, yet I was now blind to its beauty. Perhaps, I no longer deserved to see the beauty of my forest play land, for I had lost hope in my dreams and my dreams had lost hope in me. I continued to gaze at the sight in front of me, but there was nothing extraordinary about it; everything looked dead. All I saw were the skeletons of scrawny trees and bare branches that retained no resemblance to the enchanted forest that used to reside here. A frozen breeze lashed my neck and I felt the sharp cold air pierce me so deeply, that my heart broke. The buzzing that used to sound like fairy wings now seemed like laughter, one that mocked me for ever believing in anything at all. Fairies were not hiding inside holes in the trees or burrows in the ground; they never did. There was no sign of growth anywhere, not even imaginary life could withstand the deathly vibe that surrounded the corpse of my childhood memories. I had reached one of thousands of dead ends within the maze of life. I took in one last deep breath, and tried with my final drops of hope to taste the sweet fragrance of pixie dust, but there was only a bitter air that barely filled my lungs. There was nothing left for me here, and although I know it was not real, it felt as though I was being pushed by the force of my disillusionment, back to reality and away from my childhood.