journal

On Reality

These lines are blank and it feels as though I am lost somewhere in between them. Between reality and what I perceive things to be. But what is reality? What is real and really real? The lines blur like smudges on a page. Anything can seem true if you believe it enough. Anything can be a lie if you find the right fact to disprove it. What we thought was medicine centuries ago is now completely absurd. Reality is what you make it. Reality is perception. Perception is perspective. Perspective is individual. Individual is to be different. And although everyone is, we really aren’t all so very different. Someone else, somewhere, at some time, must have had a similar thought. A similar feeling. Performed a similar action. Perhaps even one and the same. Perhaps I am exactly the same as somebody in this or another time. There have been so many people, it seems that, logically, we can’t all be completely unique. Yet the point is diverted, once again. Lost inside my aside. So, if reality is what we make it, how lost can I be? I suppose the question is not, “what is reality,” but, “what is my reality?” What is yours? How are they similar and how are they different? What a fascinating avenue to tread upon. I wish you would come with me.

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