As a writer, I like to imagine that there are other worlds out there. Where time and reality is warped. Where it feels a thousand worlds away from my own little existence, that carries entirely separate plotlines parallel to my own.
You build a world to escape. You build a world to get lost in, to forget the problems of your own by immersing yourself in a completely different reality, until its problems become your problems and suddenly it becomes a part of you as much as you've played a part in it.
But then, you realize you're split in between this world you've always known to the world you've only had a taste of, and almost always, you're forced to choose reality over the tantalizing lures of fantasy. Because, as I've said, it's all you've ever known.
Even if it means ripping away everything you once held close, watched form at your fingertips, and now you can only watch from a distance as it all carries on without you. And perhaps even fades out of existence entirely.
And it always comes back to you. You're left with the lingering, relentless question in your mind: What would have happened had you chosen your other world instead?
YOU ARE READING
Serenity - A Journal Of Some Sort
RandomThey tell me that what I create is chaos. But what I create is the only thing that brings me serenity. ~ warning: this book abruptly switches from deep personal narratives to really random stuff so hop on and enjoy the ride
