Illusions (Richard Bach)

My childhood years have all been but an illusion for many years now. Yet I find myself clinging to those special memories as I keep mom’s visage alive in my mind. When the loneliness overwhelms me I head to my journal and start to write.

When I write, I’ll focus solely on a memory with my mother. That recollection seems like an illusion at first. But when I close my eyes and begin to focus, the words turn into smells, sounds and feelings that surround me and bring it all back to life. My own special time machine.

The spell is easily broken and I can get yanked back in the present quickly. I find myself facing a page of words that I don’t even remember typing. The illusion has turned into a reality that exists in the words on the page before me. Your expectations of what’s to come should be lavish, for I have been able to write greatly. . . (to be continued)

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