#Imagination

When I was growing up as a child, a teenager, I used to invest time and energy on imagination. Fantasy and the power of make belief was art I immersed into.
I made up stories. Characters. Events and drama. I was the heroin. I worshipped my hero and was loved to pieces.
When reality gave me opportunities to love and touch love, I imagined less, and started to write about it instead.
I probably found that writing is much more productive because I can reread it and jump back into the fantasy.
However, writing proved to be a weaker method of retaining information, and emotion especially.
And also I started to notice I was depressed. And focused writing about that too.
I don’t know if it’s been the same ever since, or if it is a recent development, but I now focus on writing about myself, to uncover what emotion is lurking behind the imaginations of a blackholed mind.…