“These mortal wizards are the explorers of their own wonderland, where they traipse, fondle, gaze over their mystical thoughts.”
The substantiality of our existence is revealed through our reality and our delusion of unrealistic thoughts. Those fictitious stories sprinting through our nerves and then vigorously to our hearts makes us feel like the fairies of the fantasy land.
We muggles are so devoid within ourselves but are fulfilled with the phantasm which exists within our heads forever. It’s like the unrealistic elements of those magical fables which makes us feel accomplished and satisfy of our existence.
Our existence is connected with those oblivious thoughts which is every time inside us, inside our minds. Maybe this virtual world is filled with infinite fictional stories which are yet to be discovered. These never ending illusioned stories flickering might be the part of those parallel universe which is still a mystery.
It’s the conundrum of my own abundant conviction. We are the wizards of our own concocted minds, which is still rovering around these mystifying islands. The mortals have a different notion.
These shattered humans are astray from their own delusion and ponder about their fictional characters, drifting in those summer haze forests, valleys which is still a blur of memories in this mortal world.
They are Emancipated with those clasped thoughts between the virtual land and the magic land. Perhaps, these fantasies are the mirage of our parallel universe, maybe it’s just an artistry of thoughts popping up out of the crafted minds.
In those fantasies lies the stripped and naked pain or grief of those human’s which are escaping from the harsh reality. The mortal beings are fragmented into deep emotions, sparkling in those never-ending illusions.
These artists dilute themselves in those fantasizing moments to get lost, lost from the truth. These tales are smouldering with the reality of their own aura, possibly their identity lies somewhere deep under the ocean of those unreal dragons, or the mermaids which still makes oneself a bliss whenever he/she is living on those islands.
Being frail or fragile in reality is the reason for he/she to be the daredevil in their cloud of thoughts. Its very outlandish but it’s the reality of oneself hiding through their own existence.
“Perhaps its an eerie or a bewilderment of one’s own self.”