It has memories that have never been experienced.
It knows people it has never met.
It spins these tales that linger within the confines of my mind, refusing to leave.
Distinguishing fantasy from reality becomes an ever burdensome task... right?
I've always thought that life should be as I want it to be. That's selfish.
Do I think that's selfish, or do the morals that I've been infused with believe that?
We do good things because we're told to? We do good things because they're good? We do good things because we receive psychological satisfaction from them?
Who am I to judge?
I'm the master of my goddamned universe, that's who. Who are YOU to judge ME?
For all I know, you could all be parts of my imagination, dancing to a tune you can't hear, doing my bidding without me even knowing it.
I hate people and I love people and I really wish everyone would just disappear but then I'd be very lonesome. Very lonesome indeed.
Impasse.
Stretch pass.
Password.
Word games.
Figure it out. If there's anything to figure out.
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