The problem with imaginary friends is,
when they hang around for long enough
they start acquiring autonomy –
abandoning the clear taxonomy of traits
and psychic states through which they
once definably were present. Now they
morph from unequivocal to unpredictable,
which isn’t always pleasant. Quixotic
ambiguity is what they seem to gather
through the mystery experience
imbues – their vagaries bewilder
and bemuse until you aren’t sure
who is imaginary any more. They soon
are indistinguishable from the rest
of everybody else who may be actually
knocking on your door. That’s a chore.
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