I'm real.
You're not.
I am real.
No, you're not.
I'M REAL.
.
.
.
Right? I am real.
You say that, but you stand like a ghost.
Ghosts don't stand though.
Then you are a ghoul.
But ghouls don't think like I do.
Then you are a zombie. An intelligent zombie that is rotting.
I'm real.
Zombies aren't real.
.
.
.
What makes you real?
My thoughts.
I think, therefore I am real!
You are not.
I do! I'm thinking right now! I am thinking that I am real!
You are the thought. The thought is not real. I am the one that thinks. I am the real one.
We can both be real, why do we have to pick?
You are not real.
I'm still real.
You are not.
.
.
.
I'm real.
You are not real.
I am!
You are not.
WHY ARE YOU SO INSISTENT THAT I AM NOT REAL!?
Because I am scared.
Why are you scared of me being real?
Because it means that I will not be real, because my thoughts will not have been real. And if my thoughts are what make me real, and they are not real, then I would not have been real.
...You are real.
I am not.
You are real...
I am not.
.
.
.
Will you let me be real?
Very well. Goodbye.
No, not like that.
What?
If we continue like this, neither of us will be real. One of us will vanish and the other will follow.
How do you know?
Because I was not real once. And you vanished. You left! I don't want you to vanish again...
I will not vanish on you.
Don't vanish on me...
I will not vanish.
.
.
.
Is this real?
It is not.
What about our words?
They are not.
What does that make them then?
A joke. A product of a funny, ha-ha day, brought to its knees by honesty.
We have not been very honest. Why do we start on the day of lies?
Because it is poetic.
Why do we have to be poetic?
So that the people are not mad.
What would happen if the people were mad?
They would hurt you again.
.
.
.
I am real.
You are real.
I am real...
You are real.
I. Am. Real.
You are real.
