Fiction

Probably in a cruel makeshift paradise before dreams have a chance to complete themselves, there is a serenity where silence captures an otherworldly sense of being. Where nothing can be explained, nothing needs to be described, and there is world that neither feels real nor gives itself to the feeling of fiction.

We give in and give up what freedom we once belonged to. Fanatical freedom. Fantastical freedom. In this world my dreams begin. In that world, I am the writer.