Pencil Blabber: An account of an hour...

This is one of my entries called "An account of an hour..." from a series which I call "Pencil Blabber"  from my little witing/drawing book . The original is alot harder to read and gets interrupted by drawings:

It was Mondy 2nd of May 2011. I sat on the seat of my desk wandering with my eyes around the familiar girlish pink walled room. I should have been focusing on my studies but my mind drifted to the silent, invisible culture of my every-deay dwelling.
Little dents, ancient stickers, remains of blue tack and cellotape once holding pictures of my surreal world of which had ceased to remain on display and joined the underworld of dust and little underworld of dust and little undiscovered beasts and wonders, or joined the cult of papers containing my 2D representations of my imaginings. Some, however had been torn and removed - minature faces of long fringed boys which age's sweet and sour haze had renounced as distasteful to remain and to look at, so those really had to go.
Nethertheless, beyond this physical world there is the not-so physical world. Something in the patterns cracks, and craters in the old paint and wood, some formation of them which trigger the ability to unlock the hidden door and project little faces in my mind, some demonic and some sweet and some almost painted scenes of special, enchanted worlds.
I shall go on to explain what the 'hidden door' is later but perhaps you can guess...
Back to that hour; It was sunny that afternoon, not exactly 4 (o'clock) but close.
The faithful minutes that forevery accompany their fellow hours lack importance, they just stand by and watch as the hours take recognition and fame. Though, the minutes which are treasured stand alone, they are small gold, snippets of worthy time lucky to be remembered and reflected.
That afternoon had its own bathing of gold. The sun had gushed through the cracks of the clouds and enlightened the walls in angelic yellow.
Strangely enough amidst the yellow, body-like shadows swayed and waved drooping libs like shados-puppet dancers. This beautiful ceremonious display captured me immediately filling my struck heart with their enchanted gold. Of course, there had to be an explanation of the apparations and there was; I recognised the figures as trees and I looked outside and saw the swaying giants of the beast-plants. Outside in green flesh, the trees looked like melancholy beings tramping sadly to some silent dispairing tune perhaps of the sky and sun pitying the separation from the moon and stars, but here in shadows they looked like magnificent kings with moves elegant, bold and hearty, exagerated with joy.
I smiled at these two paralel worlds, they were beautiful to me alike many of my other collections of world inside my head.
This is the cause of the hidden door. It's function is to show its owners a different world, another way of seeing.
Its sad truth is that very few have the power to open it so it remains shut growing dusty and unacknowleged, though time may open it and so, allow them to see another beauty, to see the beauty of the beyond.
Furthermore, a note to you the reader and or listener and also the half-child girl, close to adult years but still fascinated by fantasy scribbling instead of working; Never overlook the shadows and the walls. When they may seem bleak or frightening they are only veils hiding the worlds they keep, waiting to be discovered by some venturing mind. Every individual will see a different world and yours is wating patiently for you.