Mad as a hatter

Perfection is the language of the mind, once one leaves reality to create. There are no boundaries, only preconceived laws one forces upon ones ideas as they manifest. We do, however, have a tendency to nurture ideas which are altered versions of the reality we perceive, where rules might be tweaked slightly, and everything in between them is exactly as we wish it. Or rather, as we dream it.

I am a dreamer, I fear not admitting it. I let myself travel into the furthest of my mind's reaches to bend reality to perfection. Perfect situations. Perfect conversations. Perfectly imperfect even, if I really feel like making the idea believable to myself. So believable, that I find it slightly too plausible.

Look up Dreamer in the dictionary and you'll

find a picture of this guy.

I find it self-explanatory that ideas have their roots in thoughts, and that most are subconsciously created. I do however believe that it is less self-explanatory, and important to note, that the ones we actively form on the behest of our dreamy thoughts are the ones driving us. These ideas are forces upon us, by ourselves, because they are so immaculately clear to us in the given moment, that we simply cannot refuse their logics, as they are often procured as we experience something of significance, which might alter our vision of the world directly in front of us.

A human is born with a free mind. Free of restrictions, free of direction, free of life as we know it, but not free of living. Living as a human demands one to act through thought, and as one is most often nurtured in a loving home by their ever so loving parents, one will adopt their mindset and way of understanding the world. If one wonders why people fight over religion, land or even honor, one has not understood the power of the ideas of man.

Amazing what one might fool oneself to believe, and then achieve.

We let our ideas control our lives. We blind ourselves by putting blocks in our mind, neglecting that which does not fit within our idea of reality. Whenever we believe, we limit our perception. Man would not be able to see all in the world, even when given omnipotency, because it is not in our nature to see more than two strides beyond the borders of our illusion of reality. The world holds too many impressions for one to grasp, and therefore one will have to delude oneself with simpler ideas of how things are in order to accept them and experience them.

What happens, though, when reality suddenly offers nothing of the expected, and simply slaps you in the face? When the idea you've grown so fond of, which you've fallen in love with, reveals itself to hold a fault too major to ignore, or too many small ones. What then, when you must reassess the validity of your own reality?

I wish I was mad. Mad as a hatter. Mad enough never to doubt my ideas. Mad enough to believe that it is reality there is something wrong with.

It would be perfect. You would be perfect.

You were perfect.

And then I woke up to reality.