the first time i read about it, i was a twelve year old with a hyperactive imagination. as i was reading in another language, and is i always loved precision, i used to consult the dictionary very often.
however, sometimes, i would let the words just form in my imagination, and asign fantastical definitions that would suit my mood, and break the routine of the story. i think i still do this, search for maximum precision, but keep a side of myself as unaware as possible, so i can discover the world anew everyday. i also never liked messing with given names. i pronounce them in my head as i like, page to page, so that a james can be a jaime, a jahh-mess a jay-may or anything. but that's a tangent.
the first time i actually saw one, it was on my wedding day. i walked into the marquee, blue and white, and there it was, or rather, there they were. a couple of daddy-long-legs, floating about as they do. bouncing against the stripey canvas. trying to escape half-heartedly. i had never seen one before, but instantly i knew them from my imagination. my picture of them had been wrong, and right, and there they were, welcoming me to my new country in all their englishness.
people came and went, we danced until we couldn't see each other anymore. then we left.
i did sometimes wonder what had happened to them. did they die while we danced? did they escape to the beautiful garden? did they watch us like i watched them?
tonight, there's one sitting by my shoulder. quiet. i kind of would like to see it start to dance around, floppily, as they do, but part of me has always been a little terrified: the daddy-long-legs in my head are man-eating, hairy, poisonous spiders, the size of a hand, and ready to attack at the latest provocation.
keep still. i'm off to bed.
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