Puff the Magic Dragon and the Pig

So, I had an imaginary friend when I was a little Simone. He wasn’t a dragon. He was a pig. I don’t know why he was a pig. There’s probably a deeper, psychological meaning in that somewhere. Maybe I should research that. Anyway, I often think about him. I wonder where he is. How he is. I wonder if he thinks about me at all. I also often wonder if I should perhaps visit him again. You know, catch up. Fill him in on my life. Of course I won’t. Mainly, no, not because well, it’s weird, but because I fear, or rather I worry, that he might not be proud of me. Also, I wouldn’t really know where to find him.

He was my best friend you see. We shared many adventures, him and I. Just like Jacky Paper and Puff. We didn’t travel on a boat with billowed sail, not did we frolick in the autumn mist. But we passed many a languid afternoon discussing life, and people, and drawing. I was a weird child. And I valued his opinion above all others. I know my parents are reading this but don’t worry, they know all this. They say they never worried about it. This friendship. Of course I am sure they did. They thought I was talking to the trees. He was very real to me. I am often asked from people that know about him, ‘So, you had an imaginary friend but did you REALLY believe he was real??’ Yes. Yes I did. He was real to me. I preferred him to my other friends. I also know they’re reading this. That’s ok. They know and love me, it’ll be fine. They’ve heard worse from me. He agreed with me more you see. Actually, that’s not entirely correct. He listened to me more, but he also challenged me more. He was the more… whimsical part of me. I miss him.

When I hear the last verse of Puff the Magic Dragon *inserted below* I feel sad. Not because I imagine Storky standing under the bougainvillea, our version of ‘the cherry lane’ where we used to meet, waiting for me on that day that I never went back again. But because, in the song it says ‘Without his life-long friend, Puff could not be brave’, but, in my song, Storky is the one who made me brave. I guess I’m waiting for him to rather come back and visit me. I don’t think I left him. He left me.

“A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys,

Painted wings and giant’s rings make way for other toys,

One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more,

And Puff, that mighty dragon,

He ceased his fearless roar.

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain.

Puff no longer went to play,

Along the cherry lane.

Without his life-long friend, Puff could not be brave,

And Puff that mighty dragon,

Sadly slipped into his cave.”

I reconcile it with myself these days that the bougainvillea was torn down years ago now anyway. I guess I also hope/imagine that maybe Storky keeps another little person company, on another cherry lane. I do hope he’ll visit again one day though, and maybe even say… ‘well done, top job.’ He was British.


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