She sits at her computer, happy to be home but a little bit restless. Perhaps the best thing about the weekend was discovering a new author, writing in a style that seems completely unlike anything she'd ever put her teeth into.
"Perhaps all of the stories of our lives ARE tied together," she thinks.
Ironic that she found this author on the same day that she discovered that her story, her dream, was possibly all in her mind. It was a moment of truth, honestly, but on the other hand, she suspected it all along.
Secretly, this is what she wonders:
Is it better to keep alive a dream, a story in the mind, and moreso a fantasy stemming from what she really wants in life, or should she look at cold, hard facts, no matter what that means? She already knows what her answer is; it lies within her heart. She will keep believing, believing that what she felt and experienced was real, not a dream. Even if everything isn't true, perhaps parts of it are; those are the parts she wants to hold on to, cherish forever.
She just realized that maybe she'd forgotten an integral part of the story. A wide eyed child who wanted nothing more than someone to play with. That's all she wanted, too.
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