To Live Within A Dream

I spent my childhood moving from town to town, crisscrossing the country. Utah then Texas and Wyoming, back to Utah and again to Texas, on to Florida, to Georgia, and New Hampshire. We never stayed in one place for very long, and moving every couple of years or even months didn’t really allow for one to get too comfortable or attached to anyone or anything without having it all painfully ripped from you. So, being the quiet introverted girl with very few friends that I was, I did the next best thing. Instead of hanging out with friends and getting involved in a sport that I would never have the opportunity to enjoy, aside from the fact that I was not too keen on the athletic aspect of life, I picked up a book and started reading.
It was not long before I was hooked and ended up going through, at the minimum, one and sometimes two books a week depending on the size of the books. After the ending of first and heading into my second grade years, in another school and yet another town, I had finished my run with picture books. They were no longer interesting enough, I needed more substance and I longed for something with more action, more heart. I became so easily immersed in the mystery and magic of these bound piles of parchment, which smelt of wisdom and imagination, that I started to disconnect from the real world. All I wanted was to jump in and get hopelessly lost in the wonder and excitement of these marvelous novels that had so captured my mind.
Soon these bewitching tales had followed me, long after the conclusion of my reading them. They penetrated my dreams, creating new endings and enticing episodes of mischief and mayhem in which I was able to insert myself and manipulate. I was happy and I was finally safe.
Then I discovered legends ranging from the quests of King Arthur and The Knights of the Round Table to the toils of Robin Hood and His “Merry Men”. Unsurprisingly, I quickly fell in love with these tales and as I read them they became a part of me and I a part of them. They became separate entities from the stories they had been before I experienced them. They shaped who I am and became an integral part of my life.
From behind closed eyes, my mind was both my escape and my torment. When my eyes were open I yearned for the thrills and adventures that came with the dreams. They were constantly calling me back to their presence, making me unable to wait until I would be reunited with my dear friends from my imagination. The hours in between my time with them were excruciating. When they were closed I lived countless lives where I was someone to be proud of, with no mask behind which I would hide. My life it seemed I began to live in dreams, those precious fantasies my mind and memory longed for. I've spent nights dancing under stars and twilights running ever faster under the towering trees. I've fought pirates and sailed the seven seas, flown to the second star and straight on till morning, glided on a ravens wing, and been sent soaring from a child's swing.  I wanted to dance with the moon until the sun broke into day and the twinkling stars guarded me from beyond the pale blue sea that blanketed the sky, to ride the wind, high in the clouds until the ground beckoned me to return once more.
Inside these stories, I was safe and finally felt like I belonged. They were beloved and sacred, and were the perfect escape from the ever changing and terrifying world around me. My collection grew larger and larger and spilled from one bookcase to another. It eventually became so vast that several of my books built up in stacks on top of my desk and dresser or were either safely stashed away on my closet shelf or neatly tucked into several boxes. I never threw out a single volume whether it was a children’s book like Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes and Katie Kazoo, Switcheroo: Who’s Afraid of Fourth Grade by Nancy E. Krulik or a more complex reading like Eragon and Eldest by Christopher Paolini or The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. For me, each book was sacred and within their bound pages they each carried a secret world where one could escape to during difficult times.