It's funny how the world is,

even funnier how imagination is.

How you can live through one thing everyday

and still dream to believe in something else.

What is it about mankind, about life itself

that causes us to long for fictional bliss?

Yet even when we find our fantisies crumbling,

when we crash into the harsh truth,

with inpekible persistance we keep on.

We keep on dreaming,

we keep on sculpting the cartoon world we could never have.

We keep on just to collide into reality, standards, limitations and rules

even harder than we did before.

Is the human mind so underdeveloped that we choose not to flee from constant self caused heartbreak.

Or due we numbly enjoy consistant dissipointment and lonlieness.

Can reality answer these questions

or must I imagine an aswer I feel hurts the least?

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