Ever since reading the poem below, I loved it. It spoke to a place inside me that believes in magic. They say our lives are filled with possibility and that thought can give hope.
This is the creature there has never been.
They never knew it, and yet, none the less, they loved the way it moved, its suppleness, its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene.
Not there, because they loved it, it behaved as though it were. They always left some space. And in that clear unpeopled space they saved it lightly reared its head, with scarce a trace of not being there.
They fed it, not with corn, but only with the possibility of being. And that was able to confer such strength, its brow put forth a horn. One horn.
Whitely it stole up to a maid – to be within the silver mirror and in her.
Rainer Maria Rilke