There were days when I would sit in the back of my mother's closet, tucked between the crates of scarves and winter hats, with the hems of special-occasion dresses brushing my head, wishing desperately to get to Narnia. I would dig my heels into the floor and make sure the door was tightly closed, the lights off, pressing the back of my head against the too-solid wall, sure that at any moment it would give way to cold and prickly branches like in "The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe." I wanted to play chess with the ruby-eyed knights at Cair Paravel and sail out to the world's end in the Dawn Treader with Caspian, reaching the wall of water that stretches to the sky. I didn't want to be there for the Last Battle, to see the destruction (though I still don't understand why poor Susan wasn't in Aslan's Land at the end), but how I longed to visit the Dancing Lawn or the high barren Ettinsmoor where the giants lived!
Did you ever want to visit an imaginary place? Was it Narnia?