If flowers could talk and the lame could walk, I think the world would consistently smile. We'd dance more and learn more and on no account focus exclusively upon ourselves.

          When I was smaller than I am now, I wished my dolls could speak. I wanted them to convey what they thought of me and to twirl around with me because worries are so silly. One day I woke up and comprehended that not all things can be so light, and I began to mimic my mother's fears. I did not yet know why I should be afraid, but I wanted to worry because that was the thing to do. I do not blame my mother or my father or my teachers or my peers; I just wanted to be like them, and to be liked by them, and for some reason I got it in my head that no one wants a child as a friend. So I tried to grow up, and when I tried to grow up I got caught in that odd mix of desiring after innocent things and craving the things I did not understand. After some time, though, I began to understand those things. It was bound to happen, but I really have spent a lot of my life since speculating how situations may have been different if I had just let myself figure stuff out on my own. Life gets fast and there's nothing we can do about it. 

          Anyway, I believe sometimes it is healthy to dream. Not to worry or lust or envy or even strive, but to just sit and think. I don't want to spend time thinking of how matters may have gone differently, but I want to be a child again some; hence, some afternoons I like to sit in my room and literally stare at my wall. I'll get a pen and my notebook and write about things you'd expect from an eight year old. My childhood was cut off early, but do not pity me. It is so in these times that most everyone's is, and we learn to learn and that is that. 

       
          I've always enjoyed thinking, and the older I've gotten probably the less I do it and the more I want to. I also want as I grow to make other people think, and it's sort of become a hobby and a cycle. 

          When I was about five years old, I truly believed with my whole heart that the world would be a better place if everything was a cartoon. People would not be, obviously (humorously), but my bed would be! The trees would have leaves you could use as fleece coverings, and my bed would be the brightest pink a person could ever experience! It's the bounciest bed of all, and my parents let me jump on it routinely before I lie down to rest at night. When I sleep I have dreams that come true, but only when I want them so. I can read minds and everyone enjoys me. We have many somethings syrupy throughout the day and I climb trees the size of mountains with skill and quickness. I run at speeds people can hardly comprehend, and I can be by myself whenever I want to be. But when I want a buddy, I don't even snap my fingers before he or she is planning fun for the two of us right next to me. I'm never wrong, I'm never disappointed, and some days I live in the ocean. All the boys in the world are handsome and witty but don't make me feel embarrassed at all. They're impressed when I beat them in sword fights or run faster than them, and the other girls are not jealous: they have their own boys who are less cute than the ones I surround myself with- and they're content. I don't get nervous that much and I'm allowed to dance all the time. I can also talk as much as I want when I want, but the world doesn't revolve around me. 

          Several of the reveries listed are things I no longer want. I have new dreams to replace them. My dreams are less selfish now, yet my actions are not. The way that time affects us is the strangest thing I've ever come into contact with.