I am accustomed to sleep and in my dreams to imagine the same things that lunatics imagine when awake.
-Rene Descartes
There is, a point in life, when we begin to stop believing. It begins with, perhaps, that rabbit that is supposed to bring the chocolate eggs. Then, the bright-faced man who carries your hopes in a promise of winter.
Why do we stop believing? Why do we cease to dream, and imagine?
What happens to the paracosms of our childhood? Do they disappear?
Perhaps, kind sir or madam, it would be easier if I described how much it would cost. Saint-Exupery was correct in his novel; adults can only imagine something they have never seen when they are told how much it would cost.
But what if the paracosm had no price?
What then?
Belief is a strong force.
Here you may find my paracosm, though, it may be your choice to believe it or not.
