Dedicated to Ariella, Feistus, Natalie, Zola, Jillian, Blot, Cay, Selena, Janet, Gabriel, Marika, Allison, Karen, Rabin, BJ, and Ophelia, the first - never forgot ya, Orphi.
Stuffed animals clutched close in storylines of sacrifice and mushy stuff - the gateway to the Negaverse behind the slide, now forgotten along with the pile of dusty comics and Disney Adventures.
They kept me company when no one
else would, the cartoons.
Children are made to grow up.
"They aren't real." Not asking why. Asking how. Wanting
them to live from my hands for the longest time. ... Failing.
Children do grow up. But some
stay alone.
A spark on a dark September's
rainy day ... the jingle of a gypsy's bells, a tambourine. A pair
of emerald eyes, the shine of an opal - they held my answer.
They could live from my hands. Through words.
Darkwing skulks again - not past
the chain link fence to the Negaverse of the baseball field, but
across the roofs of Colgate Hall. Though he's the only veteran to
remain, he brings the new generation. A half-toon detective. A
spoiled ruler. A demented doctor and his daughter. The Fourth
Warner. A sassy waitress. An archangel of chaos in a grey hooded
sweatshirt. An ex-trapeze artist. Too many of them to list. And
they are all my friends, my enemies, my muses. My loves. I doubt
I could breathe without them, not now.
Children do grow up. Nobody ever said they had to leave their worlds.