The Voice of Imagination

The Voice of Imagination

Bye Zee

There was a child who spoke to the stars. She would lie in the grass at night, whispering secrets to the shimmering sky, waiting for the wind to carry back a response. The world called her a dreamer, a wanderer of thoughts too vast for the smallness of reality. But she knew better. She was not lost in daydreams—she was listening to the Voice of Imagination.

It began as a whisper, a gentle murmur only she could hear. A voice neither male nor female, neither young nor old, yet filled with an ancient knowing. It spoke to her when she touched the bark of an old tree, when she let her fingers dance upon the surface of a quiet stream, when she closed her eyes and let the silence fill her.

"Do you see beyond what is given?" the voice would ask.

And she did. She saw the stories hidden within every crack in the pavement, every wave in the ocean, every breath of wind. She saw life not as it was, but as it could be.

But as she grew, the world grew louder.

"Be realistic," they told her.

"That's just your imagination," they said.

And so, she tried to silence it. She buried the voice beneath logic, practicality, and the noise of what others called reality. She forced herself to see things as they were, not as they could be. Yet, in the stillness of the night, in the gaps between moments, the voice remained. Waiting. Whispering. Hoping.

Years passed. The child became an adult, wrapped in the fabric of everyday life. And yet, one day, she found herself standing by an open field, watching as the wind danced through golden stalks of wheat. The voice stirred. It had never left.

"You have always known," it said. "That the world is more than what you see. That the unseen shapes the seen. That the impossible is only a door waiting to be opened."

Tears welled in her eyes. She had spent years trying to be practical, to fit into the narrow lines drawn by a world afraid of wonder. And yet, deep inside, the voice had never faded.

She took a deep breath and let her mind wander. And suddenly, the wheat field became a sea of golden fire, its waves rising and falling in an endless rhythm. The wind was no longer just air but the whisper of forgotten stories. The sky stretched open, as if waiting to be filled with dreams.

She smiled.

The Voice of Imagination had never abandoned her. It had only waited for her to remember.

And so, she closed her eyes and whispered back to the wind, just as she had done as a child.

"I see beyond what is given."

And the world unfolded before her, infinite once more.

Let you be !