Mistaken is he who thinks that a prison is a place where prisoners go; prisons comes in all shapes and types but the hardest of them all is when you happen to be the prison and the prisoner. If you are locked up in a room, you will scream, you will shout, you will try to break the door, but when you are trapped inside yourself, what will you do? Nothing, absolutely nothing.
You are helpless.
When I find a trouble with seemingly no way out, I whisper to myself "Everything is gonna be alright. Remember when you were going through an even worse situation and it turned out just fine?" But then again, is that what life destined to be? A big prison that everyday you break the walls of one cell only to enter another? Maybe. And maybe not
Yes, I'm imprisoned, but sometimes I runaway. As the pain cuts deeper through my heart i let my thoughts slip to surreality, where I can be whoever I wanna be whenever i want that to be. It's easy, but my punishment when I get back is nothing like that. I've seen myself as a thousand other people that it feels strange looking at the mirror to see myself.And then I ask, is that who I want to be? Myself. Like I had a choice! But if i had, what would it be? Who would it be? The reflection in the mirror, or the glossy pictures in my fancies? A hard question, but I already know the answer. I'd choose myself. It's not a matter of preference as much as it is a matter of security. I know my life, but I don't know those thousand others. I have faith that God chose the best for me, but I don't have faith in my, unlike reality, perfect fancies. It still hurts, though, having to compare my real life to the surreal one. You'd tell me to completely abandon the latter and stick to the former, but i can't. It's too late.
Surreality is part of my reality.