Growing up

There's an odd cottage down
Where I used to play as a child
I miss it, I do.
There I could be anyone I wanted,
Live any life, do anything,
Be anywhere. Be anything.

Imagination was the key to my beginnings,
Imagine this. Imagine that.
The world was at my fingertips, I controlled
My world. The world. But suddenly,
My cottage was crushed,
Not by a devious monster or a speeding train,
Not by the crashing lightning or the frightening rain,
But by me.

I cried and cried for days on end,
Wondering if I would ever have the courage,
The strength to move on. I wondered what
I did to deserve such a fate. Wondering,
Wondering on I did, searching for the key
To my ever-hungry obsessive lock.
I had questions. I needed answers.

It had come to a point, where
I let it go. I got on with my life, with
No trace of my prior life. My secret life.
No one would ever know my little guilty pleasure.
I held too much power in my head. No, not the
Physical kind. It humours me to think that.
The mental kind. The emotional kind.
For the mind is far greater than any man can harness.

And today, every now and then I visit my little cottage,
It is as beautiful as it once stood, never to tarnish,
Never to fade. For being in my mind, it is
Preserved in its original pristine condition,
The tears roll down, one by one, serving
Only to enhance the glistening wonderment of
My cottage.