The Imaginary Friend of the Page: Writing as a Transformative Practice
“I wait for you your whole life, not something you made up, but air against air, light against light draped over

your shoulders like a sweater of no weight.” -Imaginary Friend When I was a child, I didn’t have any human friends. It wasn’t that I didn’t want friends; I just didn’t understand how to get them. Hard-wired for interior sound from the get-go and growing up in a tumultuous home, I found imaginary friends for each day of the week. Monday was an older sister, reserved and confident. Tuesday had straight blond hair and a penance for dolls. Wednesday and I were thick as thieves, and she understood me best. Thursday was a standoffish brother, Friday a party animal, Saturday a patient and exhausted mother, and Sunday, a distracted father.


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