I'm not sure why I'm such a dreamer. I was just thinking a moment ago how I would love to run outside. Just open the door and run. I just got out of the shower and my feet are soft from the water and I imagined what the cold earth would feel like under my feet, but then I thought. I'd get more enjoyment out of dreaming about running, then actually running. Maybe it is because when you dream of running, there's no chance you'll fall.

I rode the bus into town today. I first visited the library; roaming the familiar shelves, running my fingertips over the bindings of various novels, remembering their stories. Remembering our story. How we laid under the old birch for hours. Living in the land of Cummings, Plath, and Poe. Remembering the nights we spent curled up on my couch, you reciting your favorite prose that I had never read. The gleam you had in your eyes when you finished your favorite stanza. The way you took a deep breath and placed the book on your bare chest and smiled “Didn’t you love it? And I couldn’t help but reply with “Of course I did.” Because you were just too beautiful, and anything you said came out beautiful, too. Then I walked into the diner. I sat at the table you were at when I first saw you. The corner table on the east side because you said the natural lighting was better for reading. I remember walking in and seeing this beautifully fragile girl with a book that looked almost too heavy to carry. I remember the way your hair fell to the left of your face, forming a curtain; hiding you away from the rest of the world. I remember sitting two tables away from you, and the first words I ever heard you speak. “Excuse me, ma’am. I know it is a silly request, but could you replace this vase with the one you removed earlier?” “Those flowers are dead, dear” The waitress had replied. “Oh, I know, but I like them better.” I couldn’t help but giggle when I heard that. Of course that was a silly request! But the waitress did as you asked, and brought the dead gardenias and placed them on your table. I remember watching you and how you talked with everyone who came in. Talking to them about the weather that will be coming, the news, and authors throughout time. You glanced at me a couple of times. I let our gaze meet for just a second until I turned away, but not until a smile sweeped across your face, and then you continued reading. I remember how you placed a $5 on the table as you were leaving, and telling Joe, the cashier, that you’d be back Saturday morning. As you walked out, I decided I’d be back then, too. After leaving the diner, having ate my breakfast and saying hello to our friends, I walked to the cemetery, and stopped by your grave. I remember when you began to fall ill, and how you went through periods of depression. I remember how some days you would cry and cry, while others you gleamed as bright as you did the day I first saw you, to the day of our wedding. I remember how scared you were, and how strong I tried to be, but how I was just as scared, too. I remember our last doctor visit, and how the doctor said that the mass inside your brain had grown too big, and it was inoperable now. I remember how at that very moment, I glanced at you and saw the light of you go out. The very thing I loved about you the most; the light of love that you carried and shared. That beautiful gleam in your eyes just disappeared when the doctor answered “3 months”. I remember how silent the ride home was, and how you walked inside and headed to the bath. You sat in the tub for almost 2 hours. I had thought to go in there with you, but then decided you needed some time. I finally went in and asked you to come out. You followed me out into the bedroom and made love to me. More intense than ever before. We laid in bed for hours that night. Me holding you as you sobbed, and then as I sobbed, too. I walked home alone. Just like I did every Saturday, but this time being different. As I turned the corner and headed home, a woman in a white dress was on the other side of the road walking, too. She walked into the park and grabbed a flower. One that had already died. She picked it up and placed it on her heart. She looked up from the ground, and it was scary how you and her favored. Her hair formed a curtain on the left side of her face and she had a gleam in her eyes I recognized far too well. Our gaze met for a moment, but not any longer, and then she glanced down at her feet. I, too, decided to look down at my feet, and to my astonishment, there was a decayed gardenia by my foot. I bent down and picked it up, but when I looked back up she was gone. You were gone. When I got home I placed the gardenia in a vase and put it on the table. Our daughter came into the kitchen and saw me place the flower on the table. “Mommy gave you one, too?” She asked, and for a moment I was confused. But then I noticed the flower tucked behind her right ear, and a smile flashed upon her face. “Yes" I said. " I got one, too."

I've been deep in thought lately. Trying to rationalize everything to the best of my ability, but still ending up nowhere. I've been thinking about how people change, and although you say you may never turn out one way, you usually always turn out that exact way. I remember I used to say I'd never do things. And here I am doing them all. I feel like I need to go back, just one more time, to make everything right. To make it all complete, so I can leave whole. That's not how life works. We can't go back and redo what we wish we had done. I just need to go back and fix things. To make them better, so my mind and soul will be at ease from now on. I need to fix me, but until then, I am trapped in this wasteland of empty promises and hopeless dreams. This dessert of opportunities. This. This hell.

I'm not sure I will ever grasp the reason walking bare foot on the ground is so...inconceivable. I chose to take a walk earlier. A quick stroll around the edges of the pond, and just feeling the soil cracking and separating under my feet was amazing. Moments like that are why I choose to continue living. Not only is it a refreshing feeling, but it reminds you that through all of the bullshit we go through in life, some things remain unchanged. One of the fondest memories I have of my childhood is running around under the trees during a downpour. Standing under the trees as the rain drops dwindled down leaf after leaf until finally settling down onto my head or cheek. Feeling fresh rain drops on my skin is one thing I miss terribly. Everytime it seems to rain now I am either in a hurry to go somewhere or too stressed out to enjoy the decent weather. It is just unfair when you can not enjoy the weather like you'd like.

Just as the title says; Reality is an Illusion. I'm not entirely sure how I know that, just the first thing that came to my head. Weird how your mind works at times. I guess, I mean, you can go through your whole life believing things are true. You can be told stories all your life, that doesn’t mean that your whole life was a lie. People can lie, and most likely will, all throughout your life. Maybe, because they believe it's true. People always tell me to stop living in my head, because I prefer my fake realities to reality, but what they don't understand is, life. Life is an illusion. I’m not sure how I know, I just do. But maybe, because I think it's an illusion, that's actually an illusion. What the fuck... I'm rambling now. I have no fucking clue what I'm talking about now. Well, I feel a bit of an introduction is in order. My name doesn't matter. I am a deep thinker. Day dreamer too. I try to find the things in life that make me happy. I don't try and act like other people. I work hard for what I want. That's all I can think of later. I'll post more soon.