My whole life I craved magic. I read books and watched movies and sung melodies that carried the presence of mystery, paranormal, and fairy tale. I fell victim to thinking my life would never been as amazing as a wizard's, a mermaid's, or a sorceror's. I begged the universe to grant me powers, I asked a fictional God to give me clearity on my purpose.
Nothing happened.
But my dreams... my dreams are more vivid than my actual life. My dreams were powerful, exhillarting, and MAGICAL. Every night I had adventures, always in a Saga format. One feature length film at a time, all in succession. Those around me said there dreams didn't follow the same pattern. Apparently they had a random happening every time they fell asleep, nothing ever made sense.
Something happened.
It dawned on me, that perhaps my perception of what was dreaming and what was reality is flipped. That maybe someone in my "dream" life doesn't want me to know that it was all real. Somehow I was tricked into believing that this average life of mundane activity and endless, unfulfilled desires is everything.
I think I'm trapped.
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