It's been a while since I've walked through this door. It is old now, and has started to rust at the hinges. As I push it open, those rusty hinges squeak. I would say that this was one of my most favorite moments growing up, walking, even running, through this door to read, write, and let my imagination play!
Five years later, the door's wooden frame has started to bend back to its natural shape, before it was manipulated to hold the hinges, and the copper door handle has tarnished to a pretty green color.
As I step through, nostalgia comes crashing towards me. I search through the old drawers of my desk just right of my ancient room's door, and I find my old stories, characters, outlines, and ideas. Reading through them, I'm astonished by what my childish mind had created. Even embarrassed every now and then with my ridiculous writing and random, outrageous thoughts. I smile and let out a little, quiet laugh. I had thought I was a decent writer then...
Searching through the drawers some more, I come across pictures of my favorite characters from my old stories. A had few closely mirrored the tribulations I was going through at the time I created them. Some were quite dark, where as some reminded me of even older memories from my younger ages. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I realized that I had secretly missed this. I missed the memories, but I also missed something so small... I missed writing.
The freedom. The creativity. The power of imagination.
I missed it all. I then became inspired by my past, to sit down in my chair by my old desk, and write again.
To feel Freedom once again. To Create once again. To Imagine once again...
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