Friday 24 January 2014

I've moved!

I have moved, well my blog has. Due to technical jazz that could probably be fixed if I knew the slightest ounce about computers, this has become too tedious to maintain, so I've decided to put on my hat, pick up my umbrella and sing through the rain over to here;
http://leahgray.wordpress.com

Thank you to everyone who has been reading my posts here.
If that one doesn't work out I will return here (it already seems a tad too complicated for my mind). But we'll see. Or well, if you don't see me here again you'll know.
Cheers

Wednesday 22 January 2014

His Name was Paris

I was sixteen when I had my first imaginary friend. It was entirely logical I suppose; a girl with an imagination of course needs someone to imagine. It was spurred after reading a book, where there was an imaginary friend, who ends up as some disturbing supernatural thing. That’s why I shut my imaginary friend away, just in case he’d start actually appearing behind me with a knife.
His name was Paris, after a dream I had recently had with a scar-covered boy of the same name. He had black hair, but that was all I could use to describe his appearance. Whenever I was on the bus he’d jump through the trees beside me, or hop on the roof of cars. We didn’t have many conversations, I’d watch him mostly; as he’d sit on people so oblivious to the smile in my head. It only lasted a week or so before I became too scared to let him into my mind anymore. I decided it was best, just in case there was a real monster there, to forget about him. And so I did. My first imaginary friend at the age of sixteen was gone from my life after a week.
I wonder if you see yourself in an imaginary friend, or if you see what you want to be. I think in some ways, I saw that in him. Not that I wanted to be male, but I think it was how he wasn’t afraid to do anything. He didn’t have to be, he could do anything. He was so lively and cheery and he enjoyed every moment. I think the ability to keep up with a moving bus helped. He wasn’t created to supplement a lack of real friends, nor there so we could sit down with a nice cup of tea and chat. He was there so that for a few moments, I could be jumping and dancing in the middle of the room whilst not having to explain the suddenness to anyone around me. He was there so I could go up to strangers and pull their hair, or bash on their windows. He was there so I could be everything I’m not.
I still remember him every now and then, and I’ll smile at him as he once again jumps through the trees. He was never a monster, and if he was then it would be only because I made him one. But he wasn’t, I made sure he left before I could do that to him. Perhaps sixteen is a bit old to have a first imaginary friend, or any imaginary friend at all, but when it’s a friend, you can never be too late. And frankly, a friend is a friend, regardless of whether they’re in your head or not, and you’ll have friends whatever age you are.

http://www.readwave.com/his-name-was-paris_s19852