Once, I used to be in love with the concept of dreaming. Of being in an illusion, something that you could bend at your own whim; for others, something that you had to constantly be subjected to. Perhaps a bystander in the midst of all the action, or the main protagonist in the course of the crumbling, rushing figments of one’s mind. In a false reality, anything could happen; and sometimes — the magnificent part of it all is that we all had our chance in playing God, be it by making something impossible happen or making someone appear, through the intense vividness of such things we are led to believing that we have molded our own masterpieces, our own story and world. Who wouldn’t want to live in an escape forever; in a place wherein anything could happen?
Category: thoughts
a mind split into uncountable fragments, thinking of everything and anything in infinite instances ?