Her eyes let out a sweet trickle of salt water that flowed from her eyes. She was conflicted between what is real and what is not – bothered by the fact that maybe, just maybe reality could crumble around her at any particular moment.

As a child, dreams of being Alice in some sort of strange wonderland haunted her playtime sessions, invoked something more creative, something she was not yet old enough to deal with. Now at eighteen years old, she realized something was not right about her. She wondered that if she went insane, would she be able to realize it? Would she know the moment she became detached from other humans, or would it slowly dawn upon her after any given amount of time?

There was once a time where the world seemed magical, at least to some extent. The way the trees rose up from the ground, the way they had sprouted from a seed and somehow managed to stay around for hundreds of years. The way the leaves sprouted from the branches, the way the branches twisted menacingly towering above her.

And so it was she fell down the rabbit hole. A bit of color is out of place in a black and white film, she thought. Maybe if the unthinkable became real, the world wouldn’t have so many problems. Like, maybe if we could stretch our minds so far that they shoot off into an eternity, creating a never-ending vortex of thought channeling from one side of the universe to the other, then maybe we could be at ease with ourselves.

She held so much passion intermixed with many fighting words to keep herself from sinking deeper into despair. The fact that she would never see a tree crumble and then rebuild itself made her weep. She wanted to see everything, and she wanted what she imagined to become realities to her. She wanted her mind to hold real possibilities, not just an endless mirage of dreams.

Mirrors reflecting dreams, reflecting mirrors, reflecting dreams. In a world of mirrors and dead-end possibilities it is hard to find hope. This girl dreams her dreams to come true, wishes thoughts into action and in the end, finds that there is no end to what can be accomplished.

The only way she can ever come back to reality is to find the ladder leading her up out of the rabbit hole. It may not be a ladder, for it can take any form possible. Perhaps it could be disguised in a dream, a thought or even a reflection from a mirror.

She put her hand to her face, ever so slowly – moving it to her cheek. She knew she must be real, because she could feel that she was. She knew she must be real because she could think, therefore she must exist.

If there is no reality in the dream, then where does the dream come from? Something must be real in dreams or they wouldn’t exist. Dreams exist, don’t they? You remember them and they are in your mind, sometimes with you forever and wherever you go. A soft chuckle escaped a part between her thin lips, and a smile brought creases to her face. She had found her ladder, and she was free to go and dream as she pleased.

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