People dream and in that dream lives a paradise, a place of escape from the world you live in now, a place where dreams come true.
Always afraid of what comes next, your mind creates a place full of creations, imagination and peace, and slowly you lose yourself and who you thought you were to this little paradise of escape.
Running and running, always moving, from one imaginative place to another, stories, poems, songs and art, all types of created paradises and all types of reality fading.
Around it goes, slowly but surely, forming a world or two in my head, losing that light that flickers slightly as my mind wanders, creating, imagining a world full of possibilities and people I wish to be.
Dying more and more on the inside, dying more and more to the depths of the darkness, I created due to my mind, full of paradises, full of possibilities, full of dreams I can't possibly reach.
Imagination slowly reaches its peak, living in my head and yet yielding in retreat, in reality, seeing what could be, but never really living it, too afraid to live as slowly I descend, the more I stay on this paradise of the end.
Sickening to hear this, but knowing it's the truth, sometimes a paradise isn't the way to choose, because this ideal of a perfect world for me, or a perfect story I can create, lessens my value of who I really am, where it should matter, back in reality.
Exiting this dreamlike state, slowly waking as I ache, reaching out for a hand to pull me up, up from this paradise of pure bliss and lost, causing my soul to stay right there, while I choose to get out of there, stuck forever in this state, this state of imperfections and surrealism, as I slowly descend into the madness to come, because I took a step on this paradise I created to escape the real me.
