Nothing is more powerful than a child’s imagination.
Kids can have imaginary friends, believe in things that couldn’t possibly be real and live life with such reckless abandon that adults spend their lives dreaming about being a kid again.
I believed in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. Sure, I knew they weren’t REAL, but, like a lot of things that require faith, I didn’t know they weren’t, either. My friends and I used to have grand battles with G.I. Joe guys, developed back stories for Transformers and wage epic wars with He-Man characters.
Each of you would give anything to be able to do that again. Every little reminder of a our childhood imagination brings smiles; hell, most creative people are able to tap into that, albeit temporarily, for a boost.
Most adults slowly lose that ability. Schools strip us of our wonder, puberty takes away our dreams, and life’s mounting responsibilities force us to trade our crayons in for pens and pencils.
We even write stuff like this.
Fuck you, world. I want my crayons back.





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