Imagination is dangerous. It is man’s gift and curse. In the end, more a gift to the world than to the man. He is saved by his imagination in times of trial and cursed by its wild, untamable nature in times of reason.

When imagination is all you got and you’ve no real life experience in a certain matter to base it on, life and reality become hard to separate. Because when you want it so much to live and cannot force reality to give this need to you, imagination takes over and conjure it up for you, in whatever shape and form you find likable. Suddenly reality becomes mediated into a distorted shadow-self that its maker rely on and continue its wishful thinking from. It mutates, deforms and lives like a parasite as well as a benefactor.

In your imagination you can control the outcome, in real-life you cannot. Imaginary people are of that transient, fluid and flimsy, ghostly material like fictional people as they only ever come to life and live on in your imagination. Imagination never lives up to real-life and real-life never comes close to imagination. They are two different sizes, two different worlds, unfavourable to comparison.

I am forever divided between those two worlds, those two existences; equally gifted and cursed for my vivid imagination.

I both relish in and fear this conflicted gulf in which I am trapped.

Will I ever escape or should I accept how close I am to insanity?

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