Reality. What is reality? Is it that dull, grey substance of occurrences buzzing in the edge of my consciousness? Is it this colourful world, where suddenly everything is happening the way it was supposed to - my way? What do I do when dreams becomes such a big part of how I truly see the world, that it has become too difficult to divide the real word into truth- and falsehood? The roots of fantasy have slowly penetrated the walls around my reality, making root in my sub-constions as if it has always been there. As if I were colour-blind before but now see the world in its true colours.
"Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape? ... If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we parisans of liberty, then it's our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!" - Quote, J. R. R. Tolkien
I am escaping. Escaping from my own dull existence. And I am taking you along for the ride.
This is the second part of my "novel" writings. They are descriptions of emotions and feelings that just haunts your heart and soul. You can read the first one here.
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