Writing is a delicate thing for me. I harbor a secret (well, not anymore) desire to one day write something and have it published. I've held this idea in my mind since the second grade when my teacher wrote me a note saying she hopes to read my book someday. She passed away that school year. Leukemia. I still think of her often, and always, always when I see a monarch butterfly.
The seed that she planted in my mind is alive and well, just... not quite germinating. I'm not exactly watering it.
Acting on a dream is possibly the bravest thing one can do. Dreams are deeply personal. Upon taking action, the dream no longer lives only in your heart, safe and nurtured by imagination. It's thrust into the harsh light of day, and you're not quite sure it can survive there. Can you care for it adequately once it's out and exposed to the gusting winds and the sweltering stare of the sun? You risk the death of your dream when you decide to see if it can live outside of you.
Read the full poem at morganbarrett.co/post/imagination-safe-haven
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