What’s Real Is What’s Not

My Symphony: Into The Great Unknown by Signal Hill Transmission

A monologue… of lies, truth, and whatever it is that’s in between. 

For Inch

Yes, it’s all just in my mind. But it’s also kind of realistic, you know? I mean, even if we are many, many miles away from each other, and even if the reality is that he will forever be just some sort of an irrevocable chimera and that to him I will, for the rest of his life, remain just the “little brother” of his bestfriend who was eccentric enough to write him 24 letters and pretty much depend 90% of his happiness on him, I don’t really care. I don’t care at all. I mean, who cares about reality anyway? I don’t like the real world. It’s quite convoluted, you know. I mean every morning you sort of force yourself to get out of bed, you take a shower, you get ready and then you hit the door; then you go to school, or work. Your day might either be “good” or “bad”, and then you go home, do your homework or whatever, and then jump in to bed knowing deep in your guts that you aren’t genuinely happy. Tragic. That’s what reality is: it’s tragic, and dark, and vague, and miserable, and cold, and complicated and full of shit and, and… and I know that is why I am no longer the person I was. This world I live in… it changed me. And it continues to change me every day. As each second passes, I begin to lose faith in humanity—in what’s real and tangible. I, I… I like… fiction. It’s funny coz when I when I was in 6th Grade I read this quote written in pencil on the very first page of a Biology book which was sitting on a dusty chair in the library. It went like this: “Fantasy love is so much better than reality love. Never really doing it is very exciting. The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet.” The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet. How beautiful is that? Very beautiful. You know, you sit in the dark corner of your room after a bad day, and then you remember someone. Someone you’ve loved for six years but never really been in an actual relationship with, and the only interesting thing you know about him is that he likes eating ice cubes and biting cartons whenever he’s drunk. And then you sort of take that one interesting thing in your imagination and then you get a myriad of different reasons why you have fallen for that person. And then all of a sudden you notice that you are not alone anymore. You love someone, and you know that it just doesn’t matter if he loves you back because you know… you know that loving isn’t owning. It’s never asking for anything in return. That’s true love. And that’s bliss. And for the rest of you… who are “normal”… you may call it a fabrication… or a myth, a delusional fairytale with no real ending… whatever. I don’t need what’s real to be happy. All I need is the air that I breathe, and my imagination. I am happy. 

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