He woke up sobbing just a few hours after he went to bed. I was still up in the living room. I went to his door to listen, unsure if he was still asleep and I was just hearing the soft cries of a bad dream that would pass in a minute or two, or if he was really awake and upset.

“Mama! Maah-maaaah!” 

Definitely awake.

I went in and found him, head buried in his pillow. He looked up at me and the light from the hall made his teary-wet cheeks twinkle.  

“It’s gone, mama. Gone.” 

What’s gone, baby?

“My imagination.”

Oh no, what happened?

“It’s gone. They took it. And now [sniffle, sniffle] I can’t think of anything.”