I am a follower of the imagination clown. Handing out daydreams like balloons, with a hearty chuckle and a ear-to-ear smile.
I idolize he that frees children from boring math classes and takes them to a land where clouds are still fluffy trampolines and rainbows are slides with pots of gold at the end.
Do not think he’s followed by simply children. You are probably his most faithful follower.
Is it not the imagination that brings along sympathy? Why else would you pity the poor ragged-looking boy on the streets? Because you imagine he is someone’s son. You imagine that his mother cries herself to sleep because she hears her son’s stomach grumble. Without imagination, virtue would perish.
Is it not the imagination that allows us to love? A boy buys you lilies. Without imagination, all you have in your hands are pollen-swathed bundles of fauna that may make you sneeze. But it is the imagination that saves you from the dullest reality. You imagine that he has a crush on you and lo and behold! your stomach starts to kick up a little dust. You allow yourself to imagine mutual love and sun-bathed strolls on deep green grass, a brush of hands with every step. Without imagination, all love would perish.