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The more dreams she stole, the closer she was to becoming one herself.
As she slowly started to indulge in her own fantasies, it was clear she was being sucked into a world no one else was a part of.
They called her mad, they branded her insane. But in her world, none of them existed. She pitied reality. She sympathized towards all the poor souls who didn't see the magical things she saw in the ordinary.
She believed there was beauty in this world even when she was restricted to normality.

She didn't just live her dreams, she became them.


I actually have no idea what this is. Please don't mind my sorry excuse for a poem.

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