As time goes on, the motions of life begin moving more and more seamlessly together. The days are no longer their own event, but coerce into a collage of repeated tasks that are deemed necessary. It’s as if life is slowly losing its meaning, like it has already fulfilled its purpose, and I am simply forced further into the background of everyone else’s story.
But it wasn’t always like this — was it? No. Although my memories become vague, I can still remember that sense of identity, before it all went downhill. Before I ‘died’ as if I ever had life. Since I am only the ashes of your make-believe world, life was given to me by your memory only, meaning I die when you forget me, and it’s inevitable you grow up.
I remember when we were young, beaming with hope and ambition. The world was vibrant with color and any worries were upheld by our loving parents. Climbing trees and telling stories in such simplicity made us happier than anything ever will again. It’s that fragile, fleeting innocence, before your mind is corrupted with thoughts of complex things you have no control over. When joy came easily, before the weight of your experiences demanded more. If only we could be forever locked in that short amount of time, shielded from the reality the world tells.
Being friends is effortless when you’re little. All it took was meeting you. We fit together with an uncanny perfection. Where at the time, I was too naive to know something was wrong with that perfection — nothing in this world is kept perfect. I was your best friend and you are mine. But now life is moving with you and has left me behind and you don’t seem to care. But of course I will forgive you, for what other choice do I have?
I was sitting quietly in the back of class, just another day and another lesson I’d soon forget. There I was least vulnerable; out of sight, yet able to see. And there you sat, trying to learn while simultaneously fighting the urge to let your mind wander outside the classroom. We were only six at the time yet you had big dreams and aspirations. You were curious and eager to see the world, and I was eager to help you accomplish whatever your adventure may be. And perhaps the teachers weren’t most fond of you because you stood out, you didn’t conform to the uniform everyone seemed to have. But to me, you were perfect and that quality is what put the light in your eyes.
Yet this is where things begin to blur, because I have no memory of ever actually becoming friends — how could I forget something so significant? It feels as if we always were so close. I’d be with you constantly, because together we were happiest, no fear of judgement or abandonment like the world often presented. Just playful children having fun exploring everything and anything we could together without the concept of time. I don’t even remember going home. Did I have a home? Seems like a silly question, clearly my memory is just deteriorating, right?
And perfect it was — for a while. Happy times and sad times, it didn’t matter because we were together. Even if we were scared, it was okay, because we had each other. It got harder and harder to see life as anything without you. But just as you matured, so did I. Suddenly you were more busy and exploring wasn’t the most important thing anymore. It was at this time that I began to see the colorful lens through which you once viewed the world come off. Your eagerness faded from you and it was the saddest thing I had to see. It’s not as if I could leave you, for I am woven in your waking thoughts, something that was only before, in a place of intangible things – made of what is now disintegrating.
It took a while to come to terms with my defeat, I wanted to save you and tell you it’s okay - but I can only do what your mind permits. You are about to forget me, and as much as I wish you wouldn’t, there is nothing I can do.
I will ‘die’ before I can ever fully comprehend that my entire life was just a dream of yours. I don’t know how I am - how a dream has feelings and thoughts like that of my own? It isn't fair, experiencing loss without ever having lived. But it is only that my loss is a result of yours. And if my whole life was only ever the imagination of a six-year-old boy, then imagination I should stay and stay should your imagination.
That child-like hope is still there, clinging onto me although it is faint. If you could find it in you to let me go without discarding everything. I am an imaginary friend. And I know it is scary to think of leaving that safety you found in me, but trust me that the real world is a thousand times closer to those big dreams you have. Because those dreams you have are real, and I am not. My life has and only ever will be a fabricated reality of yours. But promise me this: when you grow up, and you will, don’t lose the colorful hope that made me real. Because in that you will begin to lose yourself. Don’t abandon that little boy with big dreams Max.
