"When I was little, I used to imagine- but imagine isn’t strong enough a word, is it? When you are a child, these things that come from somewhere within you, these ideas and these visions are far too strong to be entrapped in a bland, logical, self- explanatory word like imagination. When you’re a child, these images are no less real to you merely because they come from your head. If anything, they are only that much more real, because it is your interest and your belief and your feeling so strongly that give them that reality. It’s like there’s another plane of reality, one that can’t be measured by logic or facts, one that can’t be labeled as x, y, or z because no one can prove that it exists, or that it even can be identified; but, because it cannot be proved that it exists, it is that much stronger. Because people want it that much more, and because it also cannot be proven that it does not exist. But it’s like this higher plane, in all the things we believed in as children, all of the things that were written off as an overactive imagination. Because maybe they really are real. Maybe they don’t take the form that we ever visualised them in. But maybe they are there just as much; just because we do not see them visually or tangibly affect our world does not mean that we cannot be just as affected by them. We don’t need see something or know it’s there to be affected by it. But that feeling... If you took away all of that feeling, I think that it would take all of the joy out of the world with it, because what how can happiness be separated from it? You can’t out and out tell a child that elves and faeries don’t exist, because as you do that, you are also telling them that what reality they cannot see does not exist. And they should be taught, if nothing else, to look for what is not there.

When I was a child, as I said, I kept "imagining" this most wonderful bubble fairies. The ‘fae equivalent of may flies, I suppose; those ephemeral prisms were their protection, their shelter. I would imagine their slender fluid forms folded in, dark mirrored eyes gazing through the refracted images of what we called our world. How huge it would seem to them, how dark and distorted; and their lives were so colourful and gentle and intuitive as they floated on the wind. Mayhap the bubbles were their chrysalis; so that when it should strike some offending branch or ruddy finger, the fairy would be realised anew into the world, and have to learn a whole new way of looking at things, of doing things, and grow into an entirely different creature than they ever could have imagined.

...Amazing how quickly you can take a perfectly thoughtful monologue and turn it into a sappy analogy for human life, is it not?