Darkness. . .

soft and resounding,

repulsive yet resonant with my being.

I am surrounded by it, with only a faint sense of self and existence.

No shadows pass through my realm of vision, memory, or reality.

Reality?

Is it real, or a fabrication of things I wish were real?

Are my feelings?

Thoughts?

Real? Do they exist?

What is reality?

Is everyone I know some marionette I subconsciously maneuver?

Do I ask myself this, knowing if my own reality was created by myself, that I would not feel pain?

That I would know no regrets?

That I wouldn't be asking myself this?

The real question is not,"What is reality?" ,but,

"What is dreamed?"