I once believed pigs could fly. I thought they could soar through the skies like angels and watch their fellow swine waddle in the mud below. I once believed in jackalopes. I saw a mounted rabbit head with antlers and prayed I could see one for real. I once believed in true love. I imagined it could blossom tall and straight and beautiful, and you would forget-me-not. I believed a lot of things.
But then I saw the flying pigs die. I realized rabbits cannot have antlers and true love could not grow in my garden. It was all a myth. And now I can only sketch it.