I didn't notice it at first. No, it was like something that drifted over me. It flowed on
my skin, cold. Like an invisible sheet of this kind of 'disturbance'. I was just trying to
think. Then the hours became unbearable. I was starting to feel the 'move', and I just thought I could shake it off. I was beginning to make things happen, with-out
a real cause to it. It had made no sense, but I decided to ignore whatever was
beginning to grow. I knew I had felt that way a while ago, when I had least
expected it. Or when 'thinking' hadn't been so much at the brim of imagination.
It was starting to scare me. I couldn't make sense of the shadows. If I had
just been scaring myself, or was it all really happening. Or maybe I was
in a place, where reality was only real to me. And not real at all. Or to put
it simpler, Illusion unto myself.
Or was it?
In the midst of the beginning, and I just had to close the book. Just for a moment.
To see if anything had changed. I looked around and tried to remember
what was real, and not. I knew something I wasn't suppose to. I knew
what I could actually do in terms of a surreal like imagination- to the world
I see, and the ones whom live in it. I wasn't suppose to take it that far.
I knew it well. I had known it, since the brim of it's nose touched mine.
It all made me think something was not possible, but this time, just this
one time- I questioned reality itself.
Why did I take it further? Why? Because I thought, I could. And I could've.
I could've done something, and made it real. Woah.
I was sitting in the darkness. The darkness I could mold, I know I could've.
What happened?
This wasn't 'wishful thinking' anymore.
