Fantasy isn’t all hope and fairy wings. It can easily become a vicious, cannibalistic demon, growing ever stronger upon less. It doesn’t need much reality to feed on. In fact, less is better, because then facts don’t interfere with the story you’re writing in your head. He doesn’t call? He doesn’t write? It doesn’t matter! After all, you’re very busy imagining what he’ll say when — if — he does, rehearsing it over and over again until the conversation goes just the way you want. In fact, you can spend so much time this way that months, even years might pass and you’ll hardly notice. Well, you’ll notice, but it won’t make you stop. Disappointment won’t necessarily bring you back to your senses; you’ll just imagine harder, and better, and more elaborately, until you come up with a better plotline and the best conclusion.
Despite the legends, Hope is not alone in Pandora’s insidious Box. Imagination created that Box in the first place — and that’s the really dangerous thing with wings.
