Imaginary us

Our wife has been sitting outside with her friend in the evening this summer, waiting for us to walk up the sidewalk from our bridge which we live under. Always greets us with a big smile and a hug. Said to us the other day something regarding the real Len. Apparently the real Len is from her past life, before she came to the care home. She doesn't remember much about the real Len or where they lived, but the real Len definitely did not live under a bridge with his cow, Bessy. We're just not the same Len, we persona's. That took a hit out of our impudence.

We asked her kindly if she would care to come back with us to our abode and she answered wisely with a frown “I don't want to live under a bridge.” We told her that was good because we'd never get her wheelie chair back up the river bank if we rolled her down there. She said something also about not fancying a rock for a pillow either. We gambolled that Bessy would really like her though. She gave us that big big smile.

Made us think, that evening as we avoided the evangelicals on the way back to our bridge. Every similitude in our brains is really just our whimsical take on the masses of atoms which make up ourselves and our surroundings. Real people, imaginary people, is there a difference? We all live in our own little fantasy world. If we can't handle our present quandary we just embellish it with a more virtuous take. Imaginary solutions to imaginary problems, this mollycoddly adventure.

Mollycoddly? Sweat pouring down one's face as one endures the ecstasy of some aficionado apotheosizing the leanings of an implacable societal monomania, cringing as the lashes burn one's back, scoring us for the rest of our life? So, our imagination is not all fun and games. Our imagery can feel devastating because it is. Embellishment just doesn't cut it, we take to drink, to revenge, we loose our esteem. Our imaginary self has lost it's resilience. The imagination of others has overburdened our own.

You may say I'm a dreamer,
but I'm not the only one,
I hope some day you'll join us,
And the world will live as one.

We will live on in our imaginary world under our bridge, with our good cow Bessy. Our good wife will have an imaginary Len, not the same Len which reality disposed of in favour of posterity. He's not bound to the whims of palpability, makes it a more pliable world in which to experience his perdition. Who is that man walking up the sidewalk?