Notes

As a child your mind is more of a playground than a recycle bin. Each idea conjured up has a place, a meaning - most resemble fairytale creatures and pretty pink princesses, some are thoughts of the next game you'll play, but all in all your mind is your friend. As you grow, you develop - your body changes and so does your mind. The ideas you once had about being saved by a prince have somehow vanished and have been replaced by complications such as new schools and mood swings. You use your mind but in a different way, no more pretend games, just now puzzling mathematical problems and elaborate words for your next english essay. Some ideas are useless, so you Chuck them away. Whereas others are exquisite sectors of wonder, ready to be used. Now those ideas are hard to come by, the ones like your childhood, the pictures in there purist form, fresh and benevolent, but somehow rare. You use the little you have left of those ideas time and time again, because you have bigger matters to worry about without sourcing new ones for your work. You recycle them until no more word changes can make them look different to the last time they were used, and then you Chuck them like the rest. Then you spend no time in panicking when you realise you have no more thoughts for your literature, no exuberant metaphors or bloody marvelous phrases, you, like your recycled ideas, are all used up, and you can't go back to magic up some more because there is no more. No more joy within you mind. No more truthful living, just guilt about wasted time and regrets of letting your life slip away just like your ideas. Your mind is no longer a playground, nor a recycle bin; it is a junk yard, full of toxic fumes and deadly poison that will slowly and painfully break down your brain without you realising until you are stuck in your exam with writers block and no internet to save your sorry ass. Just never let your mind fade away or be tossed in the trash, keep the swing swinging, and don't let it grow up with you. :(