Travelling with Fantasy felt like a warm blanket to be snuggled in.To escape from the pretence and monotony that was Reality.Fantasy was a beautiful storyteller.It enthralled with intricately woven stories of distant lands.
Of fairies and magic.Of love and trust.Of rainbows and unicorns.Of angels who meant what they said.Of sweet nothings and Forevers…
Reality mocked the humble Fantasy,cackling with venomous laughter.It hissed dangerously, spilling its stories of dreary,woebegone lands splattered with shards of broken dreams and expectations.
Of oblivion and hurt.Of the naive and gullible.Of the selfish and manipulative.Of indecision and unsurety.Reality took pride in itself ,for it exposed the hideous truth.’You are a falsity!’,it taunted Fantasy menacingly.
Fantasy replied calmly,’Poor Reality.For all your glory and pride,you could never be loved the way I am.For I am a solace.I am happiness and tranquility.I am excitement and beauty.I am life.A respite.From the dry,scorching desert that you are.’
Indeed.For Fantasy,truly,is mesmerising,enchanting and it is as ‘real’ as Reality for as long as it lasts…