It gets funny sometimes, you know. That we spend so much time wishing, dreaming
and hoping that we start building illusions. Illusions about everything. The
truth. The reality. The stranger version of our tales. And we start believing
in them. Based on what? Our hopes. And we become so consumed into thinking that
they're true, that we forget that they're actually not.
We grow closer to them. A little, everyday. A little, every
second. And we grow so used to them that we can't decipher between our
reality and our illusions. Eventually, they grow, they multiply. They feed on
us. And then, we feed on them. And they grow strong, so strong that one day,
they're a part of us. They become us and then we become them. Our illusions.
Our hopes, dreams, wishes. Everything
And maybe that's the reason that when our bubble breaks,
when reality strikes and the truth knocks. That we break. With them. And
without them.
We become hopeless. Almost helpless. Like we're devoid of
something. Like we're devoid of ourselves. And that's the truth. The new truth.
The changed truth. That our illusions leave parts of them in us. And then they
become us while we become them. So when they break, we break. With them. And
then we're left. Alone. Incomplete. Different. Because when we lose them, we
lose ourselves and everything, that is us. And then, we're lost. Completely.
And insanely. Lost.
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