I do all that I can to move on and move past. And yet some ghosts just refuse to melt away into the darkness.
It's time like these I just want to run away. But this is real life. I think I forget that sometimes. I get so wrapped up in the fictive, the fake, and the imaginary that I miss where the lines of illusion end and reality begins.
This happened to me when my grandfather died. I really got caught up in fiction and some other things. I remember those lines blurring a lot. When I got past it though, my realization was that those lines are arbitrary. Oftentimes, fiction presents a more complete picture of reality than even a history book might. Or a dream may feel even more real than reality itself. In the end, our perception of the world around us seems to be the ultimate determinant of our reality. Then again, this is just an idea of mine.
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